A Honeymoon Journey
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: After their much anticipated and perfect wedding night, Sherlock and Molly are headed off on their honeymoon. Immerse yourself in the romance, adventure and deep conversations as you learn real facts about Stratford-Upon-Avon as a honeymoon destination. Sequel to "Journey Through a Wedding Night." A lot of sensual but not explicit love scenes - it is a honeymoon, after all.
1. A Honeymoon Journey

**Author's note:** This story contains references to events and situations which have occurred in my post TFP story, _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage._ For the full immersive experience, I highly recommend you read that, (yeah, I know it is very long), and its sequel _Journey through a Wedding Night_ first.

Please note also the M-rating. Honeymoons tend to involve a lot of, well, you know what, and my version of Sherlock and Molly waited for the blessing of God on their union before being intimate. So I'm sure you can imagine they would be quite anxious to enjoy this new aspect of their relationship quite frequently and in, um, various locations. If love scenes are not your thing, you might be better off skipping this honeymoon story. However, as usual I must remind my readers that I stick to sensual, I do not write explicit scenes.

Sorry also for the delay. It's a lot of work to get a chapter ready to publish, and I had a rather busy weekend so my editing/proof-reading schedule is very behind right now. I love the writing part, but editing is a very tedious, time-consuming process.

 **Update** 10/30/18: Credit for my new cover image goes to myqueenismollyhooper on Tumblr. Isn't she talented with this manip? It's a perfect, romantic picture of my OTP as I see them!

* * *

Sherlock's internal alarm woke him soon after eleven. He was pleased to discover he felt reasonably rested. It was still a little hard to believe that he and Molly were actually married. The weeks before the wedding had seemed to pass so slowly and yet their wedding night had sped by.

He breathed in the scent of Molly's hair as she lay cuddled up against him. It was much better now that it had been washed. That hairspray had not been as tantalizing to his senses. He drifted his hand down along Molly's body and she stirred. "It's time to get up, sweetheart. We have a honeymoon destination to get to."

Molly's eyes fluttered open and she turned her head slightly to gaze at him directly. "Are we really married, or am I dreaming?"

"Does this feel like a dream?" Sherlock asked, before pressing his lips against hers in a lingering kiss, while his fingers danced along her skin, tickling her rib cage.

Molly pulled her mouth away from his to shriek with laughter. "Stop it, Sherlock, that tickles!"

Sherlock grinned at her. "I thought it would be nicer than pinching you to prove you weren't dreaming."

"Point taken. This is no dream, and our wedding night was just perfect, as I knew it would be." She stretched languidly and he looked at her in appreciation. That sweet body of hers was now his, just as he belonged to her. He understood now what it meant to become one. Much as he would have liked to stay in the bed and make love again, Sherlock knew they had to get up and get things together to leave. There would be plenty of time once they reached the bed and breakfast to be together.

After they were dressed in the clothes they had packed in the overnight bag, and had retrieved everything else from the room, including the sapphire and diamond necklace and the earrings, which Molly placed in her white handbag, then tucked into the overnight bag, Sherlock commented, "I'm going to call the chauffeur now and then I will call for a porter to carry out your wedding dress and veil to the limo."

He did so and ten minutes later they were heading downstairs and into the foyer. Sherlock turned in the room key cards and they headed outside to the waiting limo. There were several people around now, unlike the previous night, and Sherlock had the feeling there would be photographs of him and Molly in the papers the next day.

Once they were safely settled in the limo with Molly's wedding gown along the long seat as well as Sherlock's tuxedo, he took her in his arms and kissed her. They spent most of the thirty minute journey kissing or talking about the events of the previous day.

When they arrived at the private airstrip, Sherlock realized the last time he had been there was when he had been headed to Europe on his one way mission. When they got out of the limo, Sherlock groaned. _Of course,_ he thought rather balefully, _he_ _ **would**_ _have to be here to make one last inappropriate comment._

"Hello Mycroft," Sherlock said in a flat monotone. He was holding Molly's hand and she squeezed it.

"Ah, brother mine, I'm so glad to see you have survived the night." Was there a twinkle in Mycroft's eye?

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Enjoy having your fun, Mycroft, because you'll have no reason for it in the future."

Mycroft walked in a circle around him and Molly, inspecting them. "I must say, there does seem to be a _glow_ about the two of you. I trust things went...well, last night?"

Sherlock clenched the fist that was not holding Molly's hand. She seemed to sense his irritation and interposed quickly, "Thank you, Mycroft. It was absolutely perfect, and we are looking forward to our honeymoon." She tilted her head slightly and gave Mycroft what Sherlock could only describe as a charming smile. "Do you think we could get to it now?"

"Of course, sister mine. I hope you don't mind if I call you that?" Mycroft lifted an eyebrow in question.

Molly's eyebrows lifted a little in surprise, and she beamed at him. "Of course not. I've never had a brother."

Sherlock was relieved when Mycroft said his goodbyes so they could climb aboard the small jet. The only annoyance about the aircraft for Sherlock, was the fact that he and Molly could not sit together. There were seats that faced each other however.

"Molly, would you like to sit with your back to the front of the plane or facing forward?" he asked her. "I will do either just so we can see each other." Then he added slyly, "Of course, once we no longer need seatbelts, I'll be expecting you to sit on my lap."

He was quite pleased that she accepted his statement without protest. Molly thought a moment then suggested, "If I'm going to be sitting on your lap, we might have a little more privacy with a rear facing seat, so why don't you take that one and I'll face forward?"

Sherlock nodded at his clever wife. "I like that idea very much."

The plane ride was to be a relatively short one, only about half an hour in actual fact, once the plane was airborne. As soon as Sherlock and Molly were able to unfasten their seatbelts, he gestured to her, tapping his knees. Molly obligingly planted herself sideways on his lap, clasping her hands around his neck, and he began to kiss her, delighting in the strawberry flavoured lip gloss she had used. This was much more fun than heading off to parts unknown alone, he decided. Daringly, one of his hands moved to caress Molly's chest, over the fabric of her blouse.

"So, my love, would you like to become members of the mile high club?" he asked suggestively, before nipping at her earlobe.

Molly squirmed slightly on his lap, causing his body to react in its usual manner. "How have you even heard of that term?"

Sherlock thought for a moment, trying to ignore that part of himself that seriously craved entrance to the mile high club. "It was a passing comment Mary made to John one evening when they were discussing their honeymoon."

Molly tipped her head to the side and looked at him curiously. "Are you saying they are members?"

Sherlock gave a short laugh and stroked Molly's back. Her chest area was definitely off-limits now if he wanted to stay sane. "No, no. This was before the wedding, and I believe Mary was only joking." His lips twitched, just a little, as he added truthfully, "Of course, I had no idea what she was talking about, so I looked it up on the internet later."

Molly laughed and bent forward to kiss his lips lightly. "I love your innocence, sweetheart. You are so knowledgeable about so many things, but when it comes to sex topics you are like a babe in the woods."

Sherlock pouted. "I guess you have corrupted me then, because all the things I once counted unimportant have come to the forefront, thanks to you." He slid his hand across her back again. "Anyway, you haven't answered my question – yes or no?"

She raised her hand to run a finger along his cheekbone. "Not today, Sherlock. I'd like to have _some_ energy when we arrive at wherever it is we are going."

Sherlock was about to pout again, but then suddenly realized she had not shut him down completely. "So, on the way home maybe?" he asked hopefully.

Molly giggled. "Maybe."

So he contented himself with merely holding her close and kissing her. He would not have been able to do that if they had been driving to their honeymoon destination.

When they arrived at the Wellesbourne Mountford Airfield, it was to find a car waiting for them, as Mycroft had promised, and soon everything was packed and they were sitting in the car, ready to go.

The airfield was only a fifteen minute drive from the bed and breakfast in Stratford-upon-Avon. Sherlock withdrew his phone from his pocket and went to Google Maps, then put in the address. "You can be my navigator," he told Molly, extending the phone to Molly.

She raised an eyebrow and took it. "So I'm finally going to find out where we are going?"

"Go ahead, you can look at the map." He put the keys in the ignition and started the car.

Molly looked at it, then gasped. "Stratford-upon-Avon! I've always wanted to go there." She slid a glance over at Sherlock, who had not yet begun driving, wanting to see her reaction first to their location. "I hope this means we will be going to see at least one Shakespeare play while we are here."

That is the plan," he said, then added cheekily, "unless we spend the entirety of our honeymoon in our room making love."

Molly giggled, and placed a hand on his leg, a little bit higher than necessary. "I think we are going to need to recharge at some point, but not for a couple days at least."

"If you don't take your hand away from my leg now, we won't be headed anywhere anytime soon," he warned, giving her a smouldering look, and she blushed, withdrawing her hand to settle it primly in her lap.

"I'll keep my hands to myself until we get to our destination, but then all bets are off," she informed him, darting a glance at him from beneath her lashes. Oh, but he adored that combination of innocence and sexiness she exuded without even being conscious of it.

"I like the way you think, Mrs. Holmes," he remarked, giving her a sidelong glance, before he began to drive in the direction indicated by his phone. It was already after one o'clock and his stomach was beginning to protest the extended period of time since their last meal the night before. "Much as I hate to say it, I think we should stop somewhere and get something to eat before we go to the B&B."

"Sounds good to me," agreed Molly. "Those peanuts on the plane were not really enough to sustain me. Come to think of it, I'm really hungry." She gave him an impish look. "I think we burned an awful lot of calories last night as well."

He ventured a smirk in her direction, before returning his attention to the road. "Indeed."

A few minutes later, Sherlock turned onto Sheep Street. "That's a funny name for a street,"commented Molly. "And look, there's a place named Lambs Restaurant!"

"It's closed though. It seems like a lot of the places around here are closed on Sundays," he remarked, driving slowly down the street before spotting something that was open. "But here's one that's open."

Sherlock parked the car out front and they walked into The Opposition Bistro.

Once they were seated, Sherlock looked over to Molly and raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you want a full meal or should we just go for something light and come back to this area for dinner later?"

Molly looked down at the menu, then back at him. "I'm pretty hungry, but I don't really want to have two big meals in one day, so why don't we just go for something like chips?" she suggested.

Sherlock chuckled. She knew him so well. "You know I never say no to chips."

"Maybe we can get dessert as well afterwards?" pondered Molly aloud, as she looked at the menu once again, then up at him for his response.

"Okay, we'll get some dessert here and then we will have some _more_ dessert at the B&B we will be staying at." He gave Molly a suggestive wink and she blushed.

After their meal of chips, Molly selected banoffee pie from the menu, while Sherlock choose caramelised hazelnut parfait. They shared both desserts and were quite satisfied by the time they had finished. Sherlock was definitely feeling as though he was ready for a different kind of dessert.

They were soon headed back to the car and on their way to their final destination. When Sherlock drove into the empty parking lot of the bed and breakfast, Molly leaned forward in her seat and commented, "That's funny. Surely there are other people staying here?"

"Maybe other people are coming from their wedding night as we are and are running late?" Sherlock suggested with a shrug, pulling into one of the parking spaces and cutting the engine. He looked at the building and remembered reading that there were six bedrooms, so it was fairly small and intimate. It was on a large property surrounded by a park with trees at the outer edges of it.

They got out of the car and walked with linked hands through the front door and encountered a small reception desk, behind which a dark-haired woman was sitting. She looked up and smiled as they entered. "Hello there! You must be Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. Welcome to Shadyside Guest Cottage. My name is Kara."

"Thank you, Kara," said Sherlock, smiling at the friendly woman, who looked to be in her late-forties. "We are very much looking forward to our week here."

"You are booked into the Imperial Room, however, feel free to check out the others if you would prefer a different one. The place is yours for the week," Kara said, smiling at the newlyweds.

Sherlock and Molly looked at the woman in surprise. "There are no other guests?" asked Sherlock, casting a quizzical glance at the woman.

The woman seemed slightly confused for a moment, then her face cleared. "Oh, I remember now. You did not make the reservation yourself. The gentleman who made it, paid for the whole week and all the bedrooms." She paused for a moment, narrowing her eyes and drawing her brows together in concentration, before she continued. "Oh, yes, I remember him saying something about his brother needing a lot of space."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?" he said to Molly quietly. "After all, he booked the whole box for us when we went to the Paramore concert."

Molly leaned her head against his shoulder. "Your brother is an amazingly generous man, even if he likes to hide that nature with his prickly exterior."

Kara waited patiently for them to finish their quiet exchange, then put in, "In any case, as I said, you may use whichever room you would like. Breakfast is usually laid out in the dining room from eight o'clock onwards each morning. However, as you are the only guests this week, I will be on hand to personally prepare whatever you wish, whether it be pancakes or bacon and eggs, even a full English breakfast if that is what you would like. I can also prepare a picnic hamper for you and blankets if you would like to do that for lunch. Just let me know the day before and it will be ready for you in the morning. My husband and I live in a little cottage at the end of the drive, so we will only be a phone call away if you need us."

Sherlock nodded. He was very pleased that he and Molly would have complete privacy. He was looking forward to spending time with her and not having any other distractions around. No more interruptions from Mycroft or Mrs. Hudson. That was definitely a plus. Of course, those interruptions had all been fortunate and timely, but now that he and Molly were married, well, he certainly would not appreciate any of those in the future.

Kara handed them a brochure which contained information about local places of interest including the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. "This brochure will give you some ideas on places you might like to visit while you are here. Now, if you come with me, I'll show you to the Imperial Room," Kara said, and they followed her upstairs.

When Kara opened the door to the bedroom, Sherlock was impressed by the king sized mahogany bed. The room was decorated in gold and cream colors and Sherlock could see double doors opening onto a balcony which overlooked the park beyond.

"I love it!" exclaimed Molly, looking about the room with wide-eyed enthusiasm that made Sherlock want to kiss her. "Sherlock? What do you think?"

"I think this room will suit very nicely," he answered, looking at the inviting curve of Molly's lips.

"Wonderful," said Kara. "If you give me the key to your car, I can have my husband bring up your suitcases shortly. Then I will be back in the morning to prepare breakfast. Here's the card with the phone number for our cottage if you need anything."

"Thank you," said Sherlock, turning his attention back towards the proprietor as she spoke and taking the card from her. "I would like to take you up on your offer for a picnic hamper for tomorrow if that would be okay?" He felt Molly slip her hand in his and he looked at her. Her smile almost dazzled him.

He fished in his trouser pocket and handed the car keys to Kara.

"The picnic hamper will be ready for you in the morning, no problem at all,"responded Kara, with a quick nod. "I'll just get Martin to bring up your suitcases now."

"Just one suitcase and one overnight bag actually, and they are both in the boot," Sherlock informed her, and the woman left the room.

"While we wait, we might as well explore a little, don't you think?" suggested Molly, tugging on his hand.

"Sounds good to me." Together they walked to the double doors. He opened them and they went out onto the balcony, surveying the lovely park outside. There was a pond almost directly beneath the balcony.

"I wonder if there are any fish in it?" Molly mused, peering over the railing.

"We can ask the man when he brings up our suitcases. What was his name?" He thought for a moment. Something that started with M. He was pleased with himself when he suddenly remembered. "Martin, that was it."

Molly gave him and admiring look. "I'm impressed. You only heard the name once and you remembered it. Looks like the mind palace is getting back to full operational status," she quipped.

Sherlock laughed. "Even before you started consuming my thoughts, I had trouble remembering names. But on that front, I have actually been improving significantly over the last couple of months, as you know."

Molly nodded. "I remember telling you that you have improved on that because you care about people now in a way you didn't in the past."

Sherlock raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "You're good for me, Molly, my love."

Together they looked at the private bathroom with the tub which was every bit as big as the one in the Ritz. "We will definitely have to make use of that. I quite enjoyed the bath we had together in the early hours of this morning," commented Sherlock, sending a smouldering glance his wife's way.

"Me too," agreed Molly, pressing her cheek against his shoulder, as a knock sounded on the door to the large bedroom.

Sherlock opened the door to admit a middle-aged man with hair that was just beginning to grey at the temples. He held out the suitcase, overnight bag and car keys to Sherlock. "Here you go, Mr. Holmes. I hope you and your wife will enjoy your stay. My wife will be up here in the morning to make your breakfast, but I'm sure she already told you that."

"She did indeed," said Sherlock, taking the items. "Thank you very much. I don't anticipate there will be any problems, but I have the card with your number if an emergency arises." Then he remembered Molly's question when they had been looking outside a few minutes earlier. "By the way, are there any fish in the pond around the back?"

Martin nodded. "Yes, there are some decent sized Koi in there. Right then, I'll be off. Goodbye for now Mr. and Mrs. Holmes."

Sherlock watched the man as he headed down the stairs, then closed the door to the bedroom and locked it. Molly had just headed to the bathroom, no doubt to use the toilet. While she was in there, Sherlock opened the suitcase and fished out from the bottom the bag with the lingerie items he had purchased a few weeks earlier. He set them on the bed, then went to the bathroom himself as soon as Molly exited.

"What's this?" Molly asked, gesturing at the bag, when he returned to the room. She was perched on the edge of the bed and he went to sit beside her. "Something I bought for you a few weeks ago. It's a present – for both of us."

He pulled out the three clear bags containing the babydolls from the bag - the black, the red, and the purple one.

Molly drew in her breath. "You bought these for me?" she asked in astonishment.

"Well I certainly didn't buy them for Mrs. Hudson, sweetheart," he told her as his lips curved upwards. "I was hoping you might try one of them on for me."

"Now?" She peeked at him from beneath her lashes.

"No time like the present." His gaze swept over her as she sat there on the bed in far too many items of clothing. He lowered his voice to its deepest pitch. "It's time to get this honeymoon properly started, my darling."

Molly sucked in her breath, then withdrew the three babydolls out of their clear protective plastic bags. "They are all lovely," she told him, fingering the fabric of each, then leaned in to give Sherlock a kiss on the cheek. "Which one should I wear?"

He raised his hand to cup her chin and draw her lips to his for a much more satisfying kiss. Then he whispered in her ear, "Surprise me."

Her voice was a little breathless as she answered, "Alright, then." He watched as Molly took the lingerie to the bathroom, then removed his shoes and socks, and lay back on the bed, waiting with great anticipation for his wife to return to him.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So, Mycroft had to tease his little brother one last time. Did you expect anything else? Were you scandalized by their conversation on the plane?

Finally Molly will get to wear that lingerie Sherlock bought for her months ago, ooh-la-la - which one will she choose?

As you know, I try to research and authenticate my stories as much as possible to keep them realistic.

Credit for the name of the airfield goes to Ashblood who told me Stratford-Upon-Avon does not have an airfield of its own and found the name of the closest one, Wellesbourne Mountford Airfield.

Street names and locations are factual. The only thing that is not, is the bed and breakfast, which I made up.


	2. Wedding Present Exchange

Molly went into the bathroom and had a closer look at the three babydolls. She immediately discounted the red one. It was ultra sexy and she still felt a little shy about wearing something like that. She decided on the purple one, because it had fitted bra cups that were opaque. The chiffon that fell down from the bra cups was sheer, but it seemed more sweet than sexy. The G string also had a larger triangle of lace in the front, so was slightly more discreet. _Of course_ , Molly thought, _it isn't like Sherlock hasn't seen everything of my body now, but still…_

It was strange though, putting on something like this for the first time. She had never worn lingerie before, unless you counted a pair of bra and knicker sets, or the corset and crotchless knickers from yesterday. Molly felt slightly nervous as she exited the bathroom.

Sherlock's sharp intake of breath and appreciative gaze made her blush, but smile at him. "That looks much better on you than it did in the catalogue." He was laying sideways on the bed supporting himself on his elbow with a hand cupping his chin. With his other hand he patted the space in front of him and Molly sat.

"You really like it?" she asked shyly, turning her head to look at him. "I've never worn anything like this before."

Sherlock slid his hand along the fabric. "This attire is definitely not something conducive to keeping one's virtue intact. If you had been wearing this to bed when we were engaged, I might not have been able to prevent myself from attempting to seduce you."

Molly trembled a little from the note of passion in his voice, then gasped in surprise when he shifted position to make more room on the bed for her, clasped her around the waist and pulled her back against him. She swung her legs onto the bed so that she was laying beside him on her back, then turned her head expectantly, waiting for him to kiss her.

Instead of kissing her though, he looked deeply into her eyes as his fingers danced along her skin, caressing her neck and shoulder and delicately tracing a line along her arm. He continued until his hand reached hers. He lifted her hand and drew it to his lips, kissing the back of it first, then the palm, sliding his thumb along the new wedding band. "This time yesterday I was in the church, waiting for you to walk down the aisle to me," he murmured in a deep voice.

"Almost a whole day? How time flies!" teased Molly. "But I have to say, though, it's a bit unfair that you have so many more clothes on than I do."

"I was hoping you'd undress me," he responded, dropping her hand and laying on his back expectantly.

"Fine." Molly swung her legs over Sherlock so she was straddling him and began to unbutton his jacket, followed by his shirt. Sherlock watched her with hooded eyes, lifting himself so she could slide both jacket and shirt off of him, and drop them to the floor. She pressed kisses to his chest, enjoying the feel of it rising and falling rather quickly as she did so. _It is only fair,_ she reflected, Sherlock had been enjoying kissing _her_ chest area. After placing one last kiss over the scar from when he had been shot, Molly bent forwards so that she could kiss the mole on his neck and then his lips. It was rather fun being the one prompting the kissing, and Sherlock did not seem to mind.

His hand slid under the fabric of the babydoll to caress her back briefly and then hold her close to him. It wasn't long though until she could feel him trying to undo the single clasp that held the bra in place. He growled in frustration, as he had trouble with it, so Molly reached behind and released the clasp herself.

"Don't get me wrong, Molly. You look exquisite in that babydoll, but right now I would rather feel your chest against mine than that scratchy material," he informed her as a smile curved his lips. He tugged the top upwards and Molly sat up, lifting her arms so he could remove it completely. Before she had a chance to drop back on to his chest, Sherlock took the opportunity to grasp a breast in each hand and caress it. "Much better," he approved huskily. Molly threw her head back, thrilling at his touch. He was igniting the fire in her again. Then his hands were moving downwards towards the thin elastic of her G string and she stopped him.

Instead, Molly moved sideways off of Sherlock so she was able to unfasten his trousers, pulling them down partway until, with a slightly frustrated groan he finished the process, removing his own boxers afterwards.

Molly's gaze drifted down Sherlock's wonderfully sculpted body. It seemed almost incomprehensible that he was hers, _he has the body of a mythical Greek god,_ she thought dreamily.

"Are you going to just sit there and stare at me all day, or are you going to let me make love to you?" Sherlock's voice snapped her out of her reverie and she looked back at his face. The look in his eyes made her heart begin to pound.

And then he was kissing her, with long, lingering kisses that took her breath away and left her pulsing with need. This time when he reached to remove the G string, she did not protest, merely lifted her hips. He pulled her close, and she could feel his chest heaving as well, with the desire he was feeling for her. His hand traversed a path down her body, seeking, exploring her, readying her until she was gasping, desperate for him to be with her again.

Despite her pleas, Sherlock took his time, nudging her onto her back and lavishing her with a fiery trail of kisses down her body, tormenting her exquisitely until she was panting and crying out for him.

Only then did Sherlock join his body with hers and she felt the complete oneness of being with him again, glorying in it. When Sherlock wasn't giving her one of his frequent, heart-stopping kisses, he kept his eyes locked on hers. Molly could have drowned in those eyes, they were so expressive. At last, consumed and overtaken by their shared passion, the newlyweds fell into blissful slumber, holding one another.

Molly woke to feel Sherlock moving restlessly beside her. Suddenly he blurted out, "No! It's you!" Molly could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, and he sounded so anguished that she gently touched his shoulder.

"Sherlock, wake up, you're dreaming!"

His eyes opened and gave her an unfocussed look, then his expression cleared and he pulled her close, holding her tightly.

In fact, he was holding her so tightly it was difficult to breathe. "Sherlock! I can't breathe!" she managed to say, trying to get air into her lungs. He was incredibly strong. Immediately, he slackened his hold.

"Oh God, Molly, I'm so sorry. I'm glad you woke me when you did. I was having a terrible dream." He gazed at her, rubbing lightly along the length of her back.

"Don't you mean a nightmare? What on earth happened?" she asked, placing her own hand along his waist, as she furrowed her brow.

He kissed her forehead. "It was awful. We were at the church, getting married, and I realized I forgot the rings. The pastor said we couldn't get married without the rings, and when I said we would just _have_ to get married without them, he said, 'Nobody is getting married today.' Then he peeled off the front of his face, as if it had been a mask, you know, like they do in those _Mission Impossible_ films? And it was Moriarty. He pulled a gun out of his pocket and aimed it at you, and then I woke up."

Molly was listening in horror to the tale, and moved her hand to touch his cheek gently. "Well, thank God I woke you when I did, but it's over now. It wasn't real, and we know Moriarty's dead."

"Yes, just a nightmare," he agreed, running his hands up and down along her body to prove to himself that she was real. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you, Molly."

"Hush, sweetheart, nothing's going to happen to me. God wouldn't have brought us together just to separate us. I truly believe that." She stroked his hair gently, feeling almost like a mother consoling a child. It was an odd feeling. At the same time it was a good one, knowing that Sherlock allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of her, in a way he had never done in the past.

They lay there for some minutes, breathing in each other's scent, just enjoying their closeness. Finally, Molly shifted position. She realized she was feeling somewhat hungry. Apparently she and Sherlock had slept for some hours, because the light coming through the window had decreased significantly. She spotted the purple babydoll laying at the edge of the bed where Sherlock had tossed it down, and gave a little chuckle. _That had stayed on for all of what -ten minutes?_

"What's funny?" he asked, giving her a curious look.

She smirked back at him. "I was just looking at the lingerie, and thinking it didn't stay on very long."

A smile tugged at the corners of Sherlock's mouth. "Well, that's rather the point, isn't it? To enhance the desire of the person looking at it? Not that you need to wear anything special for me to want you, of course."

"I suppose so," agreed Molly, making a slight face as her empty stomach made its presence felt quite audibly. "Do you think we can get dressed and go to get something to eat now? My body is telling me it is past dinnertime."

He slid a hand along her body, then sat up. "Much as I'd like to just stay in bed all day with you, I have to agree. I'm rather hungry myself."

They both re-dressed and were soon out the door, heading back towards Sheep Street.

"Oh, that Lambs Restaurant is open now," pointed out Molly as Sherlock drove down the street. "Can we go there?"

"That's fine with me." He parked the car and they walked into the restaurant.

Once they were seated, Sherlock and Molly perused the menu. "They have lamb choices, but personally, I prefer steak," he commented.

"Me too," agreed Molly, closing her menu.

When the waitress came to take their order, Sherlock and Molly both ordered their steaks. "And how would you like that done, sir, madam?" asked the waitress.

"Medium rare, thank you," responded Sherlock.

"Well done for me," answered Molly decisively. Rare meat reminded her too much of her job of cutting into corpses.

After the waitress had left, Molly said to Sherlock, with a raised eyebrow, "How can you bear to eat meat that still has blood in it?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her. "Sweetheart, I didn't say rare. A properly cooked medium rare steak is pink in the centre with brown towards the outside." He pursed his lips and added, rather pompously, " _Your_ meat, being well done, will undoubtedly have a charred taste and be less tender." He sniffed and Molly grinned fondly at her husband. He had an answer for everything.

"I guess we can't think alike on everything. I like my meat well and truly dead. Besides, I get enough of seeing raw flesh when I do post-mortems." She made a face and wrinkled her nose.

This time it was Sherlocks turn to grin. "I guess that's understandable. I like the way we continue to learn new things about one another."

They enjoyed their meal, and decided to take dessert with them to eat later, "Just in case we need to recharge after certain - _activities_ ," murmured Sherlock, with a suggestive wink to Molly.

 _And there goes my heartbeat again,_ she thought, as she felt heat spread through her. They chose Marbled Chocolate Mousse Cake and Passion-fruit Panna Cotta to take with them, then headed back to the B&B.

Back in their bedroom, Molly put the two desserts in the mini fridge which was provided. The fridge also contained bottles of water and juice. There was a cupboard on which a kettle, teabags, sugar and tiny plastic milk containers sat as well.

Sherlock had been doing something while she was putting the desserts in the fridge, and when she turned around he was holding a small wrapped present in his hand.

"I was going to give this to you yesterday but I found myself a little… distracted," he told her, going to sit on the bed and patting the space next to him.

She looked at him in surprise. "Sherlock, you already gave me a wedding present, the earrings, remember?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I know, but when you were having your dress fitting a couple weeks ago, I happened to find this, and I wanted to buy it for you."

Molly sat next to him and took the proffered present. She opened it to reveal a small jewellery box. _More jewellery? I wonder if it is a necklace to match the earrings?_ she wondered to herself, before opening the lid.

She gasped when she saw what was inside. It was a gold, heart shaped locket. She lifted it out of the box and looked at the delicate cursive inscription. _Always in my heart._

"Open it," pressed Sherlock, and she did so.

Inside the locket were two small pictures of her and Sherlock, images from the selfies they had taken together weeks earlier.

"I printed them out myself," he said proudly. "It wasn't easy to get them to the right size, but I managed."

"It's beautiful, sweetheart," she breathed, feeling tears come into her eyes at his thoughtfulness. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Of course." He took the locket from Molly and put it around her neck, while she held her hair up and out of the way.

She fingered it reverently and leaned into him for a sweet kiss of thanks, then said, "I have something for you as well. I hope you like it."

"You bought me something as well?" Sherlock looked surprised.

She shook her head. "Bought, no. Remember how you caught me putting something away a few weeks ago, and I said I had something for you but that it didn't cost me anything? This is something that means a lot to me, and I hope that it will mean a lot to you as well." She bit her lip nervously. Perhaps he would think it overly sentimental.

"Well you have certainly piqued my interest," he said with an encouraging smile and quick squeeze to her hand.

Molly rummaged in the overnight bag for her white handbag and unzipped it, then pulled out her own wrapped present. She sat back on the bed and handed it to Sherlock, then waited, twisting her fingers together anxiously as he opened it.

"What's this?" he murmured, running his hand in a rather bemused fashion along the front cover of the volume.

"Open it," directed Molly, biting her lip again in nervous anticipation.

He offered her a brief smile, then did as she had instructed him. " _Diary of an incurably romantic pathologist_ ," he read aloud, and his eyes widened as his gaze flicked to hers. "Is this what I think it is, Molly?"

She looked at him shyly. This diary was an incredibly personal thing for her. She had bared her soul in it many times and divulged all her secrets in it, secrets of her longing for Sherlock over the years, and her feelings of heartbreak when he had hurt her at times as well. "If you are thinking it is my diary, yes. I bought it shortly before we met, and I've been keeping it ever since. You'll see that I don't write in it all the time, but I poured my heart out into it, and there is a lot of stuff in there about you."

Sherlock's eyes widened still further and his mouth dropped open, before he managed a reply.. "You've written about _me_?"

Molly twirled a piece of hair around her finger and nodded. "Yes. I've written about you a lot. It's where I was able to keep my private thoughts about you hidden from the world. In my diary I was able to express my feelings."

He stared down at the diary for a moment, then looked back at her, his eyes searching her face. "But isn't the point of a diary to keep it to yourself, to keep it private so nobody else can see it? Are you sure you want me to read it?"

Molly reached a hand to place it over his where it rested against the book on his lap. "Yes, Sherlock. I want you to know how long I've loved you, and how long I've prayed for you." She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, then continued. "I've even been writing in it at times since we've been engaged, but those entries are directed at you, because I knew I was going to be giving it to you."

"This…this is amazing, Molly. To entrust me with your deepest thoughts that way, I feel so honoured." There was a note of awe in his voice, and he turned his head to kiss her forehead briefly.

Molly smiled at his tender touch, very pleased with his reaction. It was everything she had hoped for, but then, he always exceeded her expectations on things anyway. She pulled away slightly to look up at him properly. This was something he needed to be aware of. "One thing I do have to tell you before you begin, obviously there is stuff in there about Tom." She flexed the fingers slightly of her hand which still rested on his. "Even when I was with him though, you'll see that I still had my doubts, and I wrote about you as much as him, possibly more than him, during that time period."

Sherlock nodded. "I will look forward to reading the diary, but I'll take my time with it. For now though-" he turned his hand upwards to capture hers properly, while his other one slid the volume out from beneath and reached to place it on the bedside table, "I think it has been entirely too long since we have kissed properly."

"And will kissing lead to...other things?" Molly batted her eyelashes at him.

"Absolutely," he assured her, releasing her hand to take her in his arms properly before kissing her thoroughly. There were no more words between them except for those of love and sounds of pleasure as they undressed one another and made love again, delighting in being together with nothing to distract them.

Their first full day as husband and wife, and Molly felt she couldn't be happier. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips in the arms of the man she loved.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed the passion of their mutual love. I do so love writing romance!

What did you think of Sherlock having that nightmare? I think he will always suffer from the occasional nightmare What he has been through.

Did you enjoy the restaurant scene? I do think it is quite amusing, the name of that restaurant, especially being on Sheep Street.

And here we finally see the diary being presented to Sherlock. That diary really plays an important part in my Sherlolly universe. With all my _Realizations of Love Dreams_ series of stories stemming from Sherlock reading the diary and having dreams (as well as Molly at times), once I begin publication of that, the pieces will fit together better.

I was thinking about the word feedback, and I just realized how appropriate a word it is. When you leave feedback, you are showing your support for an author's hard work, feeding them, just as your own needs for quiet time to enjoy stories have been fed. I am always grateful for my wonderful, loyal followers, but it would be a nice surprise to see somebody new taking the time to review.


	3. A Sherlock Surprise

_It's amazing,_ Sherlock mused, as he opened his eyes to the welcome sight of a warm, naked body beside him. _How on earth did I live forty years without knowing the joy of being with Molly?_

Unable to resist the impulse, he gently pulled the duvet off of their bodies and trailed his hand along her arm onto her hip, then the sweet curve of her bottom.

Molly stiffened suddenly, then relaxed and turned inwards so she was facing him. "I keep thinking we're doing something wrong. For so long we had to control ourselves around one another, that it became force of habit. Sorry about that." She leaned into him and pressed her lips against his.

After the kiss, Sherlock smiled at her. "Well, should we get dressed and go downstairs for breakfast? It's after eight."

Molly stretched and yawned. "All this exercise _is_ making me hungry," she said, giving him a seductive look.

As usual, just that look affected him. "Keep doing that, Molly, and we won't be making it down to breakfast at all," he warned.

"Fine." She slid out of bed, and Sherlock smiled as he watched her delicately proportioned figure make its way to the suitcase, where she pulled out clothes for the day. "Should I wear a bra?" she asked, with a teasing look in her eyes.

"It would please me greatly if you would not," was his response. Then he added, "Do you want to toss me some clothes to wear, sweetheart?"

Molly gave him a cheeky glance. "No. I think I'd like to watch you walk naked to the suitcase, seeing as you watched me." He was disappointed to see that she did put on a bra, after all. He'd definitely have to work on that.

"Mmm, I like a little bit of sass with my Molly." He winked at her and climbed out of bed himself, feeling a little self-conscious when her gaze drifted down the length of his body. It would take a little adjusting to get used to her viewing him naked like that. It was also a little embarrassing how quickly his body reacted to her glances.

"Are you going to wear one of those pairs of jeans we bought a few weeks ago?" she questioned, quirking an eyebrow at him when he was standing beside her.

He grimaced. Those jeans were going to be uncomfortably tight. "Do I have a choice? It's not like I was able to pack any of my regular suits." He stroked the curve of her shapely hip, then brushed her hair away from her neck so he could kiss it. He enjoyed the way she made a little sound of pleasure in response. Tempting though it was to forget breakfast, he forced himself to be sensible. They needed sustenance, and besides, Kara would be waiting downstairs for them. "I hope you are going to wear one of your new pairs of jeans as well."

Molly pointed out the clothes she had selected, and his lips tilted upwards. She had indeed selected a pair of jeans. "I thought, if we are going to have a picnic, we should be dressed casually for it,"she explained.

"Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten that I requested the hamper. I have some very lovely ideas on where to go for lunch." He smirked at her.

"Are you planning on having your way with me while we are in the open air?" she questioned, with a coquettish glance at him.

"Possibly." He ventured a quick squeeze of one of her sweet breasts and enjoyed the blush that spread over her face. He loved the way she blushed so easily. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's just get dressed and go downstairs for now."

They dressed, and a few minutes later they made their way down the stairs.

Kara was sitting at the reception desk again, and she got up immediately. "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

"Very comfortably, thank you," responded Sherlock politely.

After a lovely, home cooked hot breakfast of an omelette, along with bacon and sausages, Kara took their empty plates and washed them, then left to return to her own residence. Sherlock and Molly took a look around the downstairs area of the B&B, which they had not done the previous day.

"There's a chessboard!" exclaimed Molly. "I love chess, but I haven't had a chess partner for years. I remember seeing a chessboard at Baker Street. You must play, surely?"

He looked down at the chessboard, fingering one of the pieces idly. _She_ _ **does**_ _play after all,_ he thought, remembering seeing that Harry Potter-inspired chessboard in the _Platform 9 3/4_ shop at Kings Cross station a few weeks earlier. Knowing Molly to be a Harry Potter fan, and now that she did indeed play chess, made Sherlock decide right then and there that he would buy that special chessboard for her at some point.

These thoughts came and went in the space of a few seconds, and then he responded to Molly's question. "On occasion. Mycroft seems to prefer playing Operation to chess, but actually we are quite evenly matched."

"Mycroft prefers Operation? Isn't that a rather - childish game for him to indulge in?" She raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, and his lips twitched upward.

"Well, we play it with a twist. We are not allowed to look at the object we are trying to remove. Makes it a little more interesting."

Molly laughed. "Why do I get the feeling the two of you are extremely competitive?"

He smirked back at her. "Because we are. Mycroft has told me for years that he's the smart one. It's a little unfair really. He is seven years my senior, after all."

Molly took his hand and squeezed it. "Well, I guess you're the winner when it comes to love, because you have a wife who adores you, and he doesn't."

"And I wouldn't trade it for the world," he assured her, leaning down to feather a kiss to the corner of her mouth, before continuing. "Anyway, we can definitely play some chess while we are here. I would like to see how proficient you are at it."

"Do you think we'd be able to take the board up to our room?" she questioned, her gaze drifting to the chessboard before returning her eyes to his.

"We can ask. Why wouldn't you want to play it down here, though?" he asked curiously.

Molly licked her lips, then twirled a piece of hair around her finger. "Well," she began, then glanced down at the chessboard briefly before giving him a rather shy look, "I was thinking we could do a version of strip poker, but with chess. You know, remove an article of clothing for every piece you lose?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, he could feel heat immediately spreading through him at her words. "Molly," he drawled, tracing the curve of her lower lip with his thumb, "you are turning into quite the naughty girl."

She attempted a nonchalant shrug. "What's naughty about it? We're married now, remember. We're allowed to have a little fun." She bit her lip suddenly. "At least I _think_ we are."

He ignored her last comment. "I _like_ the way you think, Mrs. Holmes." He bent down to offer her a brief, yet sensual kiss.

They explored the rooms a little longer, noticing some bookshelves with books of all different types, which they probably wouldn't have time to look at, of course. There were a few board games, including Cluedo on one of the bookshelves as well, and Monopoly. "Looks like there's plenty to do if we get bored," Molly remarked.

Sherlock knew she was joking by the way she looked at him through her lashes. "Little tease," he murmured, giving her a seductive look of his own.

They peeked into the hamper Kara had left for them in the kitchen. There were scones, cubes of cheese and fruits, as well as little pre-packaged jams and the like. Plates and utensils were also included, as well as two bottles of water. Two blankets were also next to the hamper. "This looks good," commented Sherlock, closing the lid of the hamper and glancing at his wife. "For now, though, why don't we go upstairs and look at that brochure to make plans for seeing a play, perhaps tomorrow?"

"That sounds good." Hand in hand they walked back upstairs to their bedroom.

Upon arrival, Sherlock carefully took Molly's iPad out of the suitcase. It had been nestled between some sets of clothes to keep it protected. The B&B offered free Wi-Fi, so there would be no problem using the iPad rather than phones, and of course, the screen was a lot bigger which would make it easier to read.

Sherlock sat on the bed, intending to hold the iPad with one hand, while searching with the other. _Damn, this thing is heavy,_ he thought, and decided to go instead to the table by the window and use the iPad cover to support it while he typed on the iPad keyboard.

Molly raised an eyebrow at his change of location. "Your iPad is a lot heavier than it looks," he explained. "I didn't care to hold it with one hand while I typed with the other. I should really just use my phone."

Molly giggled. "It _is_ rather heavy, isn't it? But at least with the iPad you don't need to use your reading glasses." She picked up the brochure and brought over the other chair to sit next to Sherlock, setting the brochure beside the iPad, and resting her chin against his shoulder.

Using the brochure for reference, he looked up the _Royal Shakespeare Theatre_ website in order to book tickets. After seeing the ticket availability, he frowned. "Looks like we should have thought about this earlier. That is to say, _I_ should probably have thought to reserve seats in advance. All of the dates coming up show low availability," he commented to Molly.

Molly pressed her lips together and lifted her head from his shoulder, giving him a disappointed look. "Do you think we won't get to see a play, then?"

Sherlock sighed a little. He definitely did not want to disappoint his wife when they had not even been married for two days. He was sure he would disappoint her on many occasions in the future, but he wanted their honeymoon at least to be perfect. "Well, let me check and see what's available over the next few days. _Romeo and Juliet_ is playing, by the way." He checked the availability of seats, and decided that Wednesday had more seats available. The seats weren't in the best location, but it was better than nothing. He hit the button to reserve the seats, then said, "Can you get my credit card, love?"

Molly went over to the dressing table on which Sherlock had placed his wallet and pulled it out, then handed it to him. Soon afterwards, their seats were booked. "The performance is at seven, so I suggest we go out to eat at around five and head to the theatre afterwards."

"Sounds good to me. I can't wait!" Molly responded enthusiastically, heading over to the bed.

Sherlock watched Molly lay herself comfortably back on the bed, set the iPad down onto the table, closing the cover over it, then walked towards the bed. "Now that that's done, I have something to show you," he told her, perching on the edge of the bed and looking at her.

"Are you trying to flirt with me?" she asked playfully, resting an elbow on the bed and leaning her head on her hand, giving him a flirtatious look.

"Actually, no," he said seriously. "This is something I've had for several years now, and I thought I'd bring it on our honeymoon."

Sherlock felt Molly's gaze on him as he returned to the suitcase again, and opened the zipper at the top, pulling out two items. He walked over to the bed and dropped them next to Molly.

She placed a hand briefly on the items, then looked up at him, astonished. "I can't believe you even kept those. It was such a silly little gift, but I thought you might enjoy them."

Sherlock climbed onto the bed and seated himself in front of Molly, next to the two items, looking into her eyes with a soft expression on his face. "It was a very thoughtful idea, but I never had the heart to use them." He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then stroked his thumb lightly over the sweet curve of that ear. "I would have wanted to do them with you anyway, seeing as you gave them to me."

She squirmed slightly at his delicate touch then looked at the two items on the bed.. Both of them were lateral thinking puzzles books. "I never imagined you kept them," she murmured.

Sherlock's thumb moved to caress her cheek. "Of course I did. I'm rather glad they were in my important documents box, rather than the bookshelf, seeing as most of my book collection was destroyed in the explosion a few months ago."

"But you don't think they are beneath you?" A smile tugged at one corner of her lips as she asked the question.

"Not at all," Sherlock assured her, bending his head to place a kiss on the tip of her nose. "The beauty of lateral thinking puzzles is that you are given the answer, from which you must deduce what has happened. That is an important part of crime solving." He picked up one of the books and held it, looking down at the face of the woman he loved with all his heart. "I thought maybe we could take the books with us on our little picnic and try a few of the puzzles."

Molly flashed a grin at Sherlock. "I'd love to do that. I've always loved those puzzles myself, but I never had anyone to play them with." She paused, then continued with a rather self-conscious smile at him, "I remember when I bought them for you for Christmas, that I was kind of hoping you might invite me to do them with you."

Sherlock linked his fingers with hers. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was so embarrassed over my behaviour that night, that I just put the books away. I doubted I would ever have the opportunity of actually using them. I didn't think John would be particularly interested in doing the puzzles. He's more into the practical side of things."

She tugged on Sherlock's hand, and he obligingly slid over her body so he was laying next to her on his side as she turned to face him. "I know one of those puzzles that I was told years ago. Do you want to try and guess it?"

Truth be told, Sherlock thought he would much rather make love to his wife, but he figured that was going to happen on the picnic anyway, so he smiled at her. "Go ahead."

"Okay. Romeo and Juliet are lying on the floor of an empty room, dead. There is broken glass around them, and a puddle of water. There is also an open window, but the window itself is not broken. How did they die?" Molly looked at him expectantly.

Sherlock's mind whirled with the possibilities. "Were they murdered?"

"No." Molly shook her head, then impatiently brushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen over her face.

"So, it was accidental, then," mused Sherlock, more to himself than her.

"Yes," Molly responded, answering his statement nonetheless.

Sherlock pressed his lips together in concentration and thought some more. "Did they die at the same time?"

"Yes." Molly inched a little closer to him.

"Is the broken glass and water relevant to their deaths?" As soon as he said it, he berated himself. Of 'course' it was relevant, otherwise it would not have been mentioned. "Don't bother answering that one, I know it is."

Molly grinned at him.

 _What could the broken glass have to do with it then? Perhaps they had cut themselves?_ he wondered silently.

He furrowed his brow in thought, trying to ignore the fact that Molly was moving a little closer. "Was there blood on the broken glass?"

"Nope," Molly said, popping her _p_ the way Sherlock liked to do.

That meant the glass was probably not the cause of death, although it was still relevant in some way. But there was also a puddle of water. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly.

"Did they die as a result of the glass breaking?"

"Yes," said Molly, smirking. She reached a hand out to touch his waist. _She is trying to distract me_ , he thought. "Do you want a clue?"

"Not yet," he told her, pursing hus lips and forcing himself not to think about the soft hand that was stroking the fabric of his shirt at his waist.

What if there had been water _in_ the glass? But how would that have caused their death if they weren't cut by it? What else could be relevant to their deaths? But perhaps the broken glass was not from an actual glass, but something larger?

Then he suddenly hit upon the answer, as if a lightbulb had switched on in his brain. "Were Romeo and Juliet...fish?"

"Yes!" Molly beamed, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "You're almost there, honey. How did they die?"

Sherlock blew out a breath. "Presumably the broken glass was some kind a fishbowl which shattered and they died of asphyxiation. I suppose the open window indicates that a strong gust of wind overturned the fishbowl." He rolled his eyes and added, "Although it would need to be a very strong wind indeed to do that."

Molly giggled. "Well, you're exactly right. You really are a master detective, my love."

He leaned in to her. "And what is to be my reward for solving the puzzle?" he asked silkily.

"This," she responded releasing her hand from his shirt to place both hands around his neck and pulling him closer so their lips could meet in a searing kiss that left them both a little breathless.

When their lips parted, Sherlock stroked Molly's hair and said, "I have an idea. When we play this little game, perhaps we should up the stakes a little."

"What do you mean?" Molly raised an inquiring eyebrow.

He smirked at her. "Just as you suggested strip chess earlier, why don't we do the same with these puzzles? Every question without discovering the solution means removing an article of clothing."

Molly pouted at that. "Sherlock, that wouldn't be fair to me. You know I'm not as smart as you are with this kind of thing."

"I know." He gave her a smouldering look that got the intended reaction of a blush in her cheeks.

"Oh well," she ventured, tugging lightly at one of his curls, "you're going to end up naked as well anyway."

Sherlock grinned and grabbed her hand, curling his fingers around it. At least she no longer seemed scandalised at the idea of making love in the open air. Oh yes, he fully intended to enjoy a little picnic, and what came afterwards, of course. Just as Sherlock was deciding a little morning loving would surely not ruin his plans for after lunch, Molly sat up.

"Well, we should probably unpack some of our things from the suitcase for now, before we head out for lunch," she told him practically.

Sherlock huffed a little and flipped onto his back, linking his fingers behind his head. "Go ahead."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to help?"

Sherlock gave a mock yawn. "Not particularly. I would rather be doing...other things."

Molly merely rolled her eyes at him. For the next few minutes, she busied herself taking things from their suitcase, refolding them neatly and putting them into the drawers of the dressing table. At one point she turned to Sherlock, holding up the body wash and massage oil he had put in the suitcase.

"Where did this come from?"

Sherlock chuckled. He had completely forgotten about those. "I got them as a surprise for you. Remember when Kaitlyn went to America a few weeks ago? I gave her some money and asked if she would bring me back some of your favorite body washes and lotions."

Molly looked at him wide-eyed. "You did? That was really thoughtful of you, sweetheart." She peered at the items in her hand. "But this isn't the scent that I usually use. I've never heard of this vanilla and patchouli kind."

Sherlock gave her a wry smile. "Well, here's the thing. Apparently those favourite scents of yours have been discontinued. Kaitlyn found this scent and thought it was similar, so she bought several for me, including the massage oil. I thought I would make use of it on our honeymoon."

Molly's mouth opened in astonishment. "I can't believe you were able to keep this secret from me for weeks. You never cease to amaze me, Sherlock." She put the bottles down onto the dressing table and came over to him, putting her arms around him and giving him a passionate kiss that left him wanting more, feeling his usual desire for her rising.

"Molly, please, don't kiss me like that unless you want me to make love to you right now." He pulled himself away from her. "I'm trying to control myself so that we can have a little fun on our picnic, but you aren't making it easy."

Molly pouted. "I was just trying to show my gratitude."

"You can show your gratitude very soon, I promise you. It's almost time for us to go, anyhow." His jeans were already starting to feel rather uncomfortable, thanks to that sizzling kiss. _Little temptress._

Fifteen minutes later, they were heading out of the bed and breakfast through the back terrace, with Sherlock holding the hamper, in which he had carefully placed the puzzle books, and Molly holding the blankets.

* * *

 **Author's note:** What do you think about Sherlock still having the gifts from Molly she had given him years earlier? Are you familiar with the puzzle Molly presented to Sherlock? I know there is a world of possibilities about what was in that gift. I hope you like my version of what it contained. It would be interesting to know what other people think was in that gift. Was it personal? Was it less personal? I myself love lateral thinking puzzles, and I have the books which will come into play, as you will see.

I had a guest reviewer on my epic Journey story who posed the question as to who my target audience is (I wish I could communicate with them further). Am I hoping to attract seekers, or to encourage people who are already Christians? From the beginning, I have strongly felt called to use this as a mission field, to try and explain Christianity in a way that is not off-putting, but just a sharing of belief. As the story progressed, I have felt more and more led to write stories of inspiration and encouragement for people. While there is certainly an element of entertainment in my writing, I have always wanted it to be about more than just that. The people who do respond regularly with feedback tend to be fellow believers, which leads me to want to write for them. I am grateful for the support I have received, even though I am well aware that it limits my readership. I think the way I would like to class myself is as an inspirational romance author. What do you think? Would you agree with that statement?

I am someone who firmly believes in a dialogue, rather than one-way communication. Talking with the people who review my work not only blesses me, but allows me the opportunity to get to know those people on a more personal level. I cannot tell you how many of my wonderful readers have inspired different chapters of my stories. I love that! I love the suggestions they present to me, and incorporating them when possible into my work. I would welcome more people becoming actively involved in this. If you prefer a one-way conversation, then you probably will not be interested in leaving feedback for me, because I am going to want to share with you and encourage your own walk with God. My own faith is strengthened by the support of other believers.

My apologies for the very long Author's note! Have a blessed day!


	4. Going on a Picnic

As soon as they were out of the B&B, Sherlock grabbed Molly's free hand, linking his fingers with hers.

They made a brief inspection of the Koi pond, seeing several of the colourful fish, before circling their way around the park, towards the trees in the distance.

Molly couldn't help a slight tingle of anticipation. She was looking forward to the picnic, but was still a little nervous at the idea of being intimate with Sherlock in the open air. Sure, the idea was a little exciting, but she did not intend to do anything that could be observed by another human being. She determined to keep an open mind however. As long as the area was deserted around them, save for animals, she knew she could be persuaded.

Molly couldn't help admiring Sherlock's physique as he walked with his usual languid grace. And those close-fitting jeans were something to behold.

She was looking at him so intently, that she stumbled over an indentation in the grass, and Sherlock had to tighten his grip on her hand. "Steady on, love. I've already had to take care of you after one fall; I don't relish the idea of spending our honeymoon needing to take care of an ankle injury again." Then he added, with one of _those_ looks that always made her stomach clench, "I want to take care of _other_ needs."

"You and your sexual innuendo." She shook her head in amusement.

"We're married now," defended Sherlock, moistening his lips, " _and_ on our honeymoon. Sexual innuendo is par for the course. I had to practice enough self-control around you for months. Now I'm letting it all out."

Molly's lips curved into a smile. "You're right, honey. You have my permission to use as much sexual innuendo as you like when we are alone."

She was surprised when he stopped suddenly and dropped the hamper. He tugged the blankets from her hand and dropped those too, then proceeded to pull her into his arms for a sensual kiss.

Molly lost all sense of time and place as he continued to kiss her, moving his mouth to trail butterfly kisses along her face and down her throat. Heaven help her, if he kept going, she would just let him make love to her in the exposed area of the park. There didn't _seem_ to be anyone around, but one never knew.

Fortunately, Sherlock displayed a modicum of sense by stopping before things got too heated between them. Then he remarked casually, "I hope you don't expect me to ask for permission every time I kiss you." His gaze swept over her flushed face as he raised an eyebrow, even as he retrieved the hamper.

Molly blushed, as she scrambled to pick up the blankets. "No permission needed." She couldn't resist adding, somewhat cheekily, "At least, when we are alone." She was actually being a little unfair to him. Sherlock had always sought permission when it came to initiating things of a potential sexual nature with her. Even on those occasions when passion had threatened to overtake them during their engagement, he had never taken advantage of her.

Suddenly she felt a little guilty, even as Sherlock took her hand again and began to continue their walk to the grove of trees, which was getting closer.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," she began, and he looked towards her with a rather confused expression.

"For what, love?"

"For saying I would give my permission, teasing you that way. Everything you have done - that we have done, has been with my permission, permission that you have always sought. You've never demanded anything that I'm not willing to give, and I love that about you." They had stopped walking again, and she was looking earnestly at him, wanting him to understand just how much she appreciated everything about him.

He gave her a gentle smile. "Isn't that what every person should aspire to? I've come to understand that we should never just take something, or expect something to be given to us. It is far better to make sure what we wish for is freely given." His voice had turned serious.

Molly saw Sherlock was thinking, and she waited for him to continue. "I think becoming a Christian has helped me to understand the difference between selfish and selfless. I used to think the world revolved around me. Even when I was helping others, solving crimes, it was to give myself that high, to please myself. Now I think more in terms of pleasing God, or wanting to please you, because you are the woman God created for me, and for whom I was created."

 _Why does he always have to say the most beautiful things?_ Molly wondered to herself, as tears came to her eyes. He was still the same brilliant man he had always been, but now he was so much more than that. The cold veneer that had guarded his heart had completely been stripped away and restored him to the man he was always meant to be, the one God had always intended for him to be. Suddenly the words of one of the praise songs they had sung in church came to her.

 _"-the weaknesses I see in me will be stripped away, by the power of Your love."_ Those words really were an accurate description for Sherlock's transformation.

They continued to walk and she squeezed his hand. "You never cease to amaze me. I don't know what I did to deserve this kind of happiness." Then she amended it to, "This joy, actually."

Sherlock bent to kiss the top of her head but didn't speak again until they had reached the first trees at the edge of the park. Then he turned once more to her. "That day when I told you that I hoped you would be happy, and that you deserved it, I didn't think it would be me that would be able to provide that for you. _You're_ the one who made it happen, and you bring me such joy as well." He brushed his lips to hers. In a different tone he declared, "Now, let's find a good spot to eat."

They picked their way through some trees, feeling the crunch of dead leaves beneath their feet. The soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and occasional birds chirping made for a very peaceful setting.

They chose a spot where there was still enough dappled sunlight filtering through the trees to provide some warmth, yet was just out of sight of the park.

Sherlock laid down one of the blankets and placed the hamper next to it. "We'll save the other one to cover us, in case we get… _cold_ ," he said, giving Molly a provocative look that served to make her insides churn.

Molly watched as he set out the little feast for them. Plates and utensils as well as Serviettes had of course been provided, as they had seen earlier that morning. She stretched out, laying sideways on one side of the blanket, leaning on her elbow and resting the side of her head on her hand.

The slight breeze ruffled Sherlock's hair, and she wondered if she would ever stop being mesmerised by him. Probably not, if more than seven years had passed and her feelings had continued to grow stronger, rather than lessen.

Once everything was set out on the blanket to Sherlock's satisfaction, he sat across from her with the food between them. They were within touching distance.

Hungry?" he inquired, reaching a hand to pick up one of the scones and offering it to Molly.

"I could eat," she said, smiling at him and taking the scone, then sitting up herself. Staying in a reclining position when you needed to cut open your scone was not really feasible. There were prepackaged pats of butter and jam packets for the scones, which Molly used to spread on her scone, even as Sherlock did the same.

She took a bite, chewed and swallowed, then commented, "The scones are good, but not as good as Mrs. Hudson's."

Sherlock, who had also taken a bite of his scone said, "I would have to agree with you there. Mrs. Hudson could open her own bakery with the quality of her scones."

After they had both eaten a scone Sherlock reached over and touched his fingertip to the side of Molly's mouth, brushing it lightly. "You had a little jam there," he told her, smiling, before putting his finger to his mouth and sucking it.

They each ate another scone, followed by a few cubes of cheese, of which there was both cheddar and mozzarella.

Then came the grapes. Sherlock changed his position so he was sitting next to her, and Molly thoroughly enjoyed the way he would pull off a grape from the stem and feed it to her before taking one for himself. She was pleased that they were seedless ones too. A person never knew whether to crunch on seeds, swallow them whole or spit them out.

"And now for the strawberries," pronounced Sherlock, after the grapes were gone. There were some rather sizable strawberries to be eaten.

There were several little packets of Nutella spread, and Sherlock opened one of them. "I would have liked proper chocolate covered strawberries, as we enjoyed at our wedding reception, but in the absence of regular chocolate, this Nutella should suffice." He looked at Molly with a raised brow. "What do you think?"

She grinned at him. "Sounds like a good combination to me. I've always enjoyed Nutella. We might just have to buy some when we go back home." She laughed as Sherlock attempted to place a huge strawberry into the tiny Nutella packet, rather unsuccessfully.

"The strawberry is just too big," he complained, pursing his lips. With that, he dipped his finger into the spread and then painted it onto the strawberry. Then he looked uncertainly at Molly. "Should I have used a knife to do that rather than my finger?"

"Doesn't bother me," she told him with a quirk to her lips, and he looked relieved.

He held out the strawberry to her and she took a big bite of it, after which he popped the rest into his own mouth. "Mmm, these Nutella covered strawberries could definitely be a thing," she pronounced, after enjoying the sweet treat.

"I wouldn't know," he grumbled in mock irritation, "You didn't leave me any Nutella on my part of the strawberry."

She swatted at him playfully. "I guess next time you need to make sure the Nutella is over the whole strawberry then."

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Impertinent, aren't you, _baby_?" he said silkily, tracing the curve of her lips with his index finger.

Her lips tingled where he touched them and she licked them. He had used the same finger for the Nutella, and she found it hard to breathe when he pressed his lips to hers briefly immediately afterwards. The way he had called her _baby_ and even that brief kiss was already starting to affect her. By the look in his eyes, he was getting a little impatient to be done with their lunch and move onwards to satisfy a hunger of a completely different kind.

After the strawberries were gone, Molly took Sherlock's hand and sucked off the chocolate from the finger he had used in place of a knife, and he gave her a sexy smile that set her heartbeat accelerating. Sherlock placed the utensils and used packets back in the picnic hamper. When Molly moved to help him, he shook his head. "I'll take care of it."

Molly returned to reclining on the blanket and watching him.

Once everything was packed away and moved aside, Sherlock also lay on the blanket, facing Molly. "Time for an experiment," he murmured, reaching for her.

Molly was used to this by now. For the past several weeks, Sherlock had been using this as an excuse to kiss her, to see whether he could detect the lingering aftertaste of what she had been eating. Willingly she opened her mouth to him and allowed his brief exploration with his tongue, before he returned to his normal method of kissing her. She made a little murmur of contentment as they kissed. Sherlock's lips always made her breath and pulse quicken.

For several minutes they continued to face each other, bodies touching, languidly kissing. Sherlock's left arm was caressing her back, even as her right arm was doing the same to him. There was something so peaceful about being outside, hearing nothing but bird calls, occasional chittering of unseen, small animals and the gentle movement of leaves swaying in the slight summer breeze.

Finally, Sherlock drew back from her and asked, "Well, shall we try some of these little lateral thinking puzzles?" He gave her a sultry look, and she knew he was looking forward to their little game that he had devised.

"All right, although I still don't think it is going to be fair to me. You will undoubtedly guess the solution quickly and I'll be the one with no clothes while you're still fully dressed." She pouted at him.

He smirked, and kissed her nose playfully. "And your point is?"

Molly poked a tongue out at him cheekily in response. "At least let me start, by giving you a puzzle."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Very well." He sat up and reached over to pull out one of the puzzle books from a corner of the picnic hamper and handed it to her. "Go ahead." Then he seated himself cross-legged on the blanket, facing her.

Molly did the same, facing Sherlock, and she looked at the book. There were some warm-up puzzles at the beginning, so she decided to start with one of those.

A little tingle of anticipation ran through her. This was going to be rather fun. It really didn't matter who won or lost the game, because the end result would be the same, and by the slight smirk on Sherlock's face, he was thinking the exact same thing.

She took a deep breath and began.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I do enjoy writing the flirtation between Sherlock and Molly. I still flirt with my husband constantly, and innuendo between us is not unusual, even after being married almost 20 years. My little piece of advice to readers -don't ever stop flirting with your spouse, it's an important part of keeping the romance in your relationship. Same goes for kissing. If you agree or disagree with my statement on this, feel free to share it in your review.

Did you like the idea of them having strawberries with Nutella on them? I think I am going to have to try that myself LOL. I already have a big jar of Nutella, just need to go out and buy some strawberries to share with my husband ;)


	5. A Little Lateral Thinking and Fun

Sherlock observed Molly as she skimmed through the first couple pages of the book, searching for a puzzle. The sunlight through the trees gave her hair a shiny golden glow in places. She looked indescribably beautiful to him, and he found himself impatient to begin their game so that they could get to the end of it already. "If you don't hurry up, Molly, I'm going to take that book from you and we will just forget about this game and go straight to the main event," he warned.

"Fine, fine," she said hastily, darting a quick glance at him. "Well, I can't figure this one out, so I guess I'll use it on you."

He watched as she flipped through the book towards the end, undoubtedly to see the solution. "Oh, so _that's_ how they did it."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and Molly said, "Okay. This is a true story. There were two cars in a race, one from the USA and one from Russia. The car from America won the race, but it was truthfully reported in the Russian newspapers in such a way as to make it seem the Russian car had outdone the American one. How was this accomplished?"

She bit her lip, waiting for Sherlock to ask his first question, undoubtedly anticipating the removal of an item of clothing.

Sherlock closed his eyes and thought. Then he opened them and smiled. The answer was elementary. "That's easy. The Russian newspapers simply said the Russian car had come in second and that the American car was next to last. Obviously they omitted the information that there were only two cars in the race to begin with."

He smiled smugly as Molly pouted at him. "Next time, I won't use a warm-up puzzle for you," she told him reproachfully.

"Well, hand me the book and I will use a warm-up puzzle for you as well, alright?" He leaned forward to kiss her pouting lips and took the book from her, then began to look at it himself. He read a few of the warm-up puzzles and ended up selecting the first one, one that seemed quite easy. He was quite prepared to lull Molly into a false sense of security by giving her an easy one to begin with.

"Here's one for you. A man calls his wife from work to say he will be home at eight. When he arrives home at two minutes past eight, his wife is extremely angry with him. Why?" He looked at her expectantly.

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "That was the very first puzzle, and I'm pretty sure I figured that one out. That's why I didn't use it on you." She bent forward a little, tilting her head slightly to one side. "I'm guessing the man was supposed to arrive home at eight in the evening, but instead he arrived at two minutes past eight the next morning." She looked at Sherlock for confirmation.

He had come to the same conclusion and had not even bothered checking the solution, but he did so, just to make sure. "Congratulations, Mrs. Holmes. You are correct." He bent forward so their lips met and clung together for a few moments, before they both leaned back again with only their knees touching in their cross-legged position.

Molly beamed. "My turn." She took the book back off of Sherlock and flipped through some more pages, obviously trying to find one that would stump him. She turned to pages near the rear of the book, and Sherlock had to suppress a smile. The puzzles were designed to get progressively more difficult throughout the book. She was definitely playing hard-ball.

"Well, you should like this one," proclaimed Molly at last. "Being a detective, it should be right up your alley." She peeked at him over the book and he saw the mischief in her eyes. She was obviously certain he would not be able to figure out the answer for some time, and expected him to be completely naked before she even had to solve her own puzzle.

 _The game is on,_ he thought, crossing his arms and smiling indulgently at his wife.

"This puzzle is about the famous serial killer, Ted Bundy." She stopped suddenly and asked, "Wait a minute. Are you familiar with the name or details of his capture? Because if you are, you would probably know the answer to the puzzle."

"I have heard of the name, but I never looked into it, so you need not fear I have any inside information, my love," he assured her, uncrossing his arms to tuck a stray piece of her hair that had blown into her face from the gentle breeze, behind her ear. It was fortunate that this was a beautiful summer's day. _Getting naked would not be fun if it were too cold,_ he thought, reflecting on how much he was looking forward to that scenario.

"Good," said Molly, not noticing the wayward direction of his thoughts, and he forced himself to focus on her once again. "Now, where was I?" She referred once again to the book, then looked up. "It says here that Ted Bundy was very careful to not leave any fingerprints at the scene of any of his crimes, yet it was fingerprint evidence that helped to incriminate him. Why is that?"

"That is certainly intriguing," mused Sherlock. He knew he would have to ask questions for this one as the answer was not immediately apparent. "I have heard of cases where a person burns off their fingerprints in order to commit a crime. Was that the case here?"

Molly smirked, making a little gesture with her hand. "Nope. You may remove an article of clothing now."

Sherlock smirked back and moved as if to unbutton his recently purchased red-and-white checked shirt, then stopped and removed a shoe instead as Molly pouted at him. "I said _clothing_ , Sherlock," she insisted.

Sherlock chuckled. "Very well, my love." If shoes were not considered clothing, she would not be able to use them either. He removed his other shoe, setting it beside the first, then pulled off a sock, smirking once again at his wife.

Molly huffed at him, but merely said, "What is your next question?"

Sherlock thought for another moment, then asked, "Were Ted Bundy's fingerprints found somewhere else rather than at the murder scenes?"

"Nope," Molly said, popping her _p_.

Sherlock dutifully removed his other sock and thought once again. _No fingerprints at the crime scene nor anywhere else_. Suddenly the answer hit him, but he had to ask one more question just to make sure.

"Did the police search Bundy's place of residence?"

Molly looked surprised and a little disgruntled, obviously sensing he was close to discovering the answer. "Yes."

"If I furnish you with my deduction now, must I still remove an article of clothing?" asked Sherlock, raising an eyebrow.

Molly sighed. "I suppose not. But if you get it wrong, of course, you will have to." Then she gave a sly smile. "If you get it wrong, you will have to pay a double penalty too."

 _That will leave me in only my boxers,_ thought Sherlock to himself. Nonetheless, he was certain his deduction would be correct. "Then I shall venture a guess. I deduce that when the police searched Bundy's residence, they found no fingerprints there either. He was most likely so obsessed with the notion of fingerprints, that he would remove them from his own home."

Molly threw down the book in a huff. "That was _supposed_ to be one of the most difficult puzzles, and you solved it by only asking three questions! Why on earth did I agree to this?" Her face was flushed with irritation, and Sherlock couldn't help laughing. _Well, well_ , he thought to himself, _my beautiful, perfect wife may not be perfect after all. She is certainly more competitive than I thought._ Of course, he knew she wasn't perfect, but she seemed to always be the one who did the right thing while he made the mistakes, so it was rather nice to see a trace of not-so-perfect Molly coming out.

He leaned over once again clasping his hands on either side of her face to kiss her tenderly. "Temper, temper," he chided with a teasing smile. "It's only a game, sweetheart. This is not supposed to be about the competition. Remember the end result," he told her, after releasing her from the embrace. Seeking to appease her further, he offered, "Would you like to take off my shirt?"

Molly looked at him. "Yes I would," she said primly, then let out a little giggle. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. My competitive streak is coming out in the most unbecoming manner." She reached over to unbutton his shirt and pulled it from his shoulders, then laid her palms against his chest. The touch of her hands on his chest was enough to tempt Sherlock to push her back on the blanket and forget their game, but he restrained himself. Instead he pulled her hands gently away from his body and picked up the discarded book. "My turn."

He deliberately looked through earlier pages in the book, not wishing to incur Molly's vexation any further. "Here's one. A man goes into a shopping centre. A woman whom he has never met before tells him 'happy birthday'. How did she know it was his birthday?"

Molly pondered the question, chewing on her lower lip in what Sherlock thought was an adorable manner. "Was he wearing something that showed it was his birthday, like a sticker or something?"

"Nope," said Sherlock, giving her a lazy smile. "Care to make a guess before you remove an article of clothing?"

"Not yet." Molly removed a shoe, _seeming_ to forget that she had indicated to Sherlock that shoes didn't count as clothing.

He rolled his eyes at her blatant attempt to cheat. "Nice try, sweetheart. If shoes don't count as clothing for me, the same applies to you," he told her with a grin.

Molly giggled. "Well, I thought I'd try." She removed her other shoe, setting both next to Sherlock's own shoes. Then she carefully removed a sock, placing it inside the one shoe. "So, no outward evidence that it is his birthday," she spoke aloud, peeking at Sherlock, as if he might give her a clue.

He generously obliged. "No outward sign."

"That wasn't a question, so you can't penalise me. I was simply making an observation," she pointed out, giving him a smug smile that made a Sherlock want to immediately kiss it away. She was not making things easy on him and his libido.

Instead of kissing her though, he merely leaned over and tapped her nose lightly. "Well, what is your next question, Mrs. Holmes?"

Molly bit her lip again, this time absently twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she thought. "Did the man show the woman something which had his birthdate on it, like a driver's licence or something?"

"That is a clever deduction, my love, but no," Sherlock responded, with an insincere look of sadness at her failure, and Molly looked disappointed. She removed her remaining sock and placed it in her other shoe.

"So, he didn't give her anything that would indicate it was his birthday," Molly mused out loud, once again peeking at him, seeking definite confirmation without phrasing it as a question. _Oh, she is a sneaky one_.

"Correct, and yes, I know you did not ask me a question. Keep going, sweetheart." He was highly amused at Molly's behaviour.

"Oh," she exclaimed suddenly. "Was he famous, and she was a fan who knew his birthdate? I know that some super-fans of actors know everything about them, even their birthdays."

Sherlock had to give her credit for what was actually an excellent deduction, although incorrect. "Another clever thought, but no, the man was not famous," he told her. If she could not supply the answer now, she had no choice but to remove her blouse. He held his breath in anticipation, and was very pleased that she ventured no guess. She reached for the top button of her blouse, apparently deciding that if she were to do so, she would make it a show for him. She unbuttoned it and drew it off slowly, showing the white, lacy bra she was wearing underneath.

He gave her a smouldering look and she blushed. She spent a minute thinking about her next question, then asked, "Did the man approach the woman or vice versa?"

"That is not a question I can answer with a yes or no," pointed out Sherlock, pursing his lips. "However, I am in a good mood, so I will tell you. He went to her, not the other way around." Then he added, "but you still need to remove another article of clothing if you do not venture a deduction."

Molly gave him a puppy dog look which he ignored. After all, he had already given her enough concessions. He could tell she was getting closer to the answer, but obviously still not ready to make a deduction, as she proceeded to remove her jeans. He was rather excited to see that she wore a pair of white lace knickers, which matched the bra. He took several deep breaths, not sure he was going to be able to restrain himself from making love to her for much longer. After all, he had controlled his urges that morning, and he was definitely in the mood at this point.

Noticing the way she was affecting him, Molly deliberately raised her hands to the back of her head and rose up on her knees, stretching so he had a lovely view of her shapely proportions. "Do you like what you see, Sherlock?" she purred at him, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Are you conceding defeat, my love?" he asked in a silky tone, reaching his hands out towards her.

"No, no," she said hastily, resuming her earlier position. "Was the woman looking at information about the man which showed his birthdate? Maybe on a computer screen?"

Sherlock felt a slight sense of disappointment. He had hoped she would at least lose her bra. Technically, she didn't have it all correct and he could continue making her ask questions, but he took pity on her. The expression on her face was so eager, so sure she had hit upon the truth. "Well done, my love. There is a little more to it, but close enough. The answer says he was visiting an eye doctor, who looked at his records and saw his birthdate."

Molly clapped her hands in excitement, and he chuckled. He suddenly realised it was her turn and he only had two items of clothing yet to remove.

He waited patiently for her to find another puzzle. He was thoroughly enjoying The view of his scantily clad wife. If they had played these games years ago as friends, there would not have been any fun actions to go along with it, and he was rather glad the books had remained unused for so long.

Finally Molly found a puzzle and spoke once again. "Here's a good one. Get ready to be naked, husband dear." She gave him a smugly confident smile. "A man goes into a restaurant, uses two forks and a knife and does not pay for his lunch. What is happening?"

 _Oh, this is a good one,_ reflected Sherlock internally. _I need background information on this, and that will require a couple of questions._ "Was the man visiting the restaurant for the sole purpose of having lunch?"

An expression of pique crossed Molly's face. "How is it you manage to ask such good questions right off the bat? Couldn't you have asked what he ate?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "That would have been irrelevant Molly. The fact that the puzzle points out that his meal was free, and that he used two forks, are the things that require clarification." Molly was twirling her hair again around her finger. This was a new facet to her he had not seen in the past. "I'm waiting for your response to my question," he reminded her.

"Oh, right. The answer is no, he was not visiting it specifically to eat," she informed him, raising an eyebrow to indicate she was waiting to see whether he would make a deduction immediately.

He had no deduction to make just yet, so he stood, then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling them off. They were becoming a restrictive nuisance already anyway, he thought.

Molly gave a little gasp. Apparently his boxers were not doing the best job of concealing the fact that he was ready for this game to be over. He seated himself once again on the ground and asked, "Did the man use both forks for his meal?"

"No, he didn't." she responded, waiting to see if he was going to venture a guess, or if he would have to remove his remaining article of clothing.

Sherlock considered her words. The second fork was most likely not being used for the meal. Therefore perhaps it was not a regular fork? _What kind of forks are there?_ he wondered silently. There is a forklift, but that didn't make sense. Then there is a tuning fork, used for tuning instruments. The answer hit him suddenly. Obviously, the man was there to tune an instrument in the restaurant, presumably a piano, and he was given a free lunch afterwords. He opened his mouth to make his deduction, then noticed the look in Molly's eyes. She was biting her lip again with anxiety, and he couldn't bear to upset her by winning the game. It just wouldn't be worth her disappointment.

So he shrugged, stood and removed his boxers, tossing them casually to the ground and standing proudly naked before her. "You win, Molly." He knew he had done the right thing when she gave him a delighted smile and stood as well. Her hands came around his neck as she pulled his head down to meet her lips, kissing him in a way that only served to inflame him further.

He moved his hands to unclasp her bra, finding it slightly easier this time, then pulling it away from her body and tossing it on the ground to join his boxers. He dipped his head further to kiss her along her neck, shoulders and one breast, while massaging the other one. Molly let out a satisfying whimper.

He eased her to the ground onto the blanket and continued his exploration of her body. His hand moved to the elastic of her knickers, and she obliged him by raising her hips so he could slide them downwards and off to join the rest of their discarded clothes.

Despite his own need, Sherlock took his time, wanting to make sure Molly was as ready to be with him as he was to be with her. And when finally they came together, their sounds of passion mingled with the rustle of leaves and the birds chirping overhead, and it was beautiful.

Afterwards, as they recovered from their exertions, Sherlock reached for the second blanket and pulled it over them, then held Molly close against him. He kissed her forehead, then said, unable to resist the opportunity to show Molly he was more clever than he had otherwise seemed, "So that man came to tune the piano in the restaurant and got a free lunch, right?"

"You bastard," Molly said, tilting her head upward and giving him a fond look that belied her words. He suddenly recalled the last time she had called him that, during the infamous phone call that had changed their paths forever to intertwine and combine.

"But I'm _your_ bastard," he agreed, kissing her once again, on the lips this time. Molly made a little sound of contentment and snuggled closer, and they slept, wrapped in each other's arms.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed this scene of Molly and Sherlock playing their unique little game. Those puzzles come directly from my own lateral thinking puzzles books, in case you were wondering. I thoroughly enjoyed myself as I wrote this scene. What better time to be a little "naughty" than on your honeymoon, right? I wonder if anyone else has ever written a story here that includes the use of those kinds of puzzles. I honestly think that Sherlock would really enjoy them, and that he would find solutions much faster than the average person.

Do you think you would have been able to figure out the puzzles as quickly as Sherlock did? I totally had to have Sherlock show off at the end that he actually had discovered the solution to the puzzle. He is Sherlock, after all.


	6. Quiet Evening for Love

**PLEASE** read and respond to the author's note at the end. It will determine the future of this story.

* * *

Molly woke and stretched languorously. She shifted her position slightly so that she could observe Sherlock's steady breathing. The blanket only covered his lower half and his chest was bare. She couldn't resist toying with the little dusting of hairs on his chest, primarily around the nipple area. She darted her tongue out and gave it a little lick, then gasped as he woke and moved sideways, using a hand to cup her bottom, squeezing it gently.

"I must tell you, Mrs. Holmes," he said in a silky tone, "My chest area seems to be a particularly erogenous zone. If you play with fire like that, you're going to get burned."

Before Molly could even venture a response, Sherlock's arm on which she had been resting came up to pull her closer to him, and he captured her lips with his own, kissing her hungrily, ardently. His mouth left hers to feather kisses to her earlobe, sucking on it lightly and she let out a little whimper of pleasure. _Definitely an erogenous zone for me_ , she thought dimly, even as he teased the lobe with his tongue, alternately sucking on it and licking it. His other hand was making its own exploration, moving from her bottom to other parts of her body, cupping one breast, then the other. Then his hand made the downward descent again, pushing the blanket out of the way to explore those other areas that responded so well to his touch.

Molly's breathing became shallow as he continued his torture, delightful though it was, returning his mouth to hers, until she cried out into his mouth as pure sensation washed over her.

He shifted himself so his body was over hers and then he was with her once again, uniting with her, becoming one flesh as they made love, exulting in each other's bodies and in the knowledge that they had been truly created for one another.

Afterwards, sweetly spent, as Sherlock held himself up on his elbows, his body still covering hers, they kissed again several times, lightly.

Molly's arms encircled his back as she luxuriated in their close contact. Sherlock's hair was being caught once again by the breeze. She wished they could just lay this way forever. His body warmed her, acting as the blanket he had removed from her.

Eventually though, he slid off of her body and sat up. He looked around, and she realised they must have been sleeping for several hours, because the sunlight filtering through the trees was much less intense. "I really enjoyed our outdoor adventure," he told her with a smile. "Do you think you might be up for doing it again before we return to London?"

Molly slid her hands behind her head and smiled up at him, enjoying the way Sherlock's eyes raked over her figure. "I think I could be persuaded," she said in a breathy tone.

He chuckled and shook his head at her. "Molly, you sexy little vixen, are you trying to tempt me into yet another round? I'm sorry, but I need _some_ time to recover."

Molly smirked at him and sat up herself, reaching for her discarded clothes. "There's something so freeing about being married, isn't there? Just knowing that we can make love anytime and that we have the blessing of God on our union, it's truly amazing."

Sherlock reached for his own clothes and began putting them on as he responded. "I know what you mean. If we had done this before we were married, it would've felt unclean somehow. I would definitely have felt guilty. Now I just feel like we are communing with nature as we commune with each other."

"I really like that analogy," Molly remarked, smiling softly as she put on her bra. She reached her hands behind her back to fasten it, but found that Sherlock's hands were there first.

"Here, let me," he offered, and she dropped her hands, grinning in amusement as it took him several attempts to fasten the bra.

"Damn bra," he huffed in exasperation. "I think you should just go without one for the rest of our honeymoon."

Molly giggled and tilted her head so she could look into his face. "Well you _did_ do a better job of it this time than you did a few weeks ago," she teased. "Remember how you offered to do it for me and it took you so long?"

Sherlock swept her hair away from her neck and kissed it gently. "I remember. I do think I improved my time by at least three seconds on this occasion."

Molly gave a happy sigh of contentment. She loved it when Sherlock kissed her neck. Another erogenous zone, she guessed.

They put on the rest of their clothes in amicable silence, then folded the blankets together. After checking the area to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything, the newlyweds made their way back to the B&B.

Molly realised it wasn't quite as late as she had thought. As soon as they were out of the shade of the trees, the sunlight became bright once again. She shielded her face and looked upwards; it was probably around five o'clock.

"Mind your step," warned Sherlock, indicating a small hole in the ground ahead of them, most likely the same one she had stumbled over earlier.

She smiled and slipped her hand into his, then carefully picked her way over it, paying attention to the grass as she walked this time.

Within a few minutes they were back inside the B&B.

They walked into the large kitchen and Sherlock emptied out the rubbish into the bin, then placed the utensils in the sink, while Molly set down the blankets and picked up the puzzle books.

"Do you think we should wash these?" asked Molly uncertainly, wrinkling her forehead and gesturing at the dishes.

Sherlock's lips twitched in amusement, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure Kara will take care of that when she comes back. I don't think we are expected to do household chores while we are here."

Molly giggled, leaning into him. "I guess you're right. So, what do we do now?" She peeked up at Sherlock through her lashes.

Sherlock glanced at his watch. "I suppose we could go out for an early dinner, if you're hungry."

Molly pursed her lips and contemplated his words for a moment, then responded with, "I'm not really hungry just yet. Perhaps we could take a look at the board games? Unless you want to do a few more lateral thinking puzzles?" She held up the books which was still in her hand.

Sherlock glanced at her suspiciously. "I don't think I'm up to any more strip puzzle games right now, sweetheart," he said dryly, squeezing her shoulder gently.

Molly turned to face him and put her free hand on her hip. "What, you're not a sex god?" she teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

He gave her an amused smile, and bent down to brush his lips against hers. "Only human, I'm afraid, my love." Then he added, "But don't worry, there will be _plenty_ of time for that later." He gave her a smouldering look. _Sherlock and his sexy looks,_ she thought, with that usual tingle of anticipation.

They went over to the shelf with board games and pulled out the Monopoly board, then went upstairs to their room.

Molly set down the board game and puzzle books on the dresser. "So, which are we going to do? Monopoly or regular style lateral thinking puzzles with no stripping involved?" She quirked an eyebrow at him questioningly.

Sherlock flopped onto the bed, stretching out languidly with his hands behind his head. "Let's do a few more puzzles. Monopoly can be an insanely long game, as I recall. This way we can just stop when we get hungry and go out to eat."

Molly picked up one of the puzzle books and joined him on the bed, moving close so their bodies were touching. For the next hour, they went back-and-forth with the puzzles, Molly choosing more difficult ones for Sherlock and him finding ones in the medium difficulty range. He still managed to ask compelling questions that led to the correct solution very quickly, but Molly was pleased that she kept pace fairly well. He would definitely have been the winner if they were keeping score again, though.

When Molly's stomach gurgled, she blushed. "I guess that means I'm ready to eat," she told Sherlock, sitting up from where she had been lying sideways on the bed, facing him.

He sat also, and swung his legs over the side of the bed., "Well, let's go then. Do you want to go to another restaurant, or should we just bring food back here?" he asked her, turning his head to look at her.

"Takeaway sounds good to me," she answered, making her way over to the dressing table and giving her hair a quick, furious brush to make it look a little more presentable to the outside world.

They left the bed and breakfast and walked to the parking lot. Sherlock tossed the car keys at her. "You drive," he told her, with a lop-sided smile.

Molly shot him a slightly anxious glance. "I'm warning you, it has been a few years," she told him, walking over to the driver's side and letting herself in.

He grinned at her after settling himself in the passenger seat. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Besides, I'd like to know that if and when the time comes for us to leave Baker Street and live elsewhere, that you will be able to use a car when you need to cart our brood of children around places."

Molly snickered. "There you go again, talking about children as if we are going to have a football team." Nevertheless, she couldn't help the little thrill that coursed through her at the thought of having a family with her husband.

"I prefer a cricket team myself," he told her with a wink.

Molly just rolled her eyes at him and started the engine. She was quite pleased that she did not stall the car at all. She remembered on their trip to North Yorkshire, Sherlock stalling it twice when he first got into their rental car. "Keep an eye out for a fish and chip shop," she told Sherlock, putting the car in reverse smoothly to back out of the parking spot, then heading off along the driveway.

She drove slowly along Sheep Street, where they had eaten before, as it became Ely Street, as Sherlock peered out of the window..

"There," he said suddenly, pointing to the left. "The Kingfisher, that sounds like it will have what we need."

Molly parked the car and they walked together into the establishment.

"Must be a popular place," commented Sherlock, noticing the long line.

"Let's hope it's worth the wait then," she responded, even as Sherlock wrapped his arms around her from behind.

They shuffled along for several minutes and finally placed their order. As soon as it was ready, the newlyweds returned to the car, and Molly drove back to the bed and breakfast.

They had ordered some battered fish as well as chips, and the smell permeated the car, making Molly's mouth water.

Back in their room, they placed the food between them on the bed. Sherlock proceeded to feed Molly a chip, before taking one for himself, then repeating the process. She enjoyed the romantic gesture thoroughly. When it came to the fish though, Molly insisted that she pick up her own piece to eat it.

"Definitely worth the wait," she commented, when they had eaten their fill. There were still quite a few chips left.

"I agree, but nothing will ever compare to Joe's Fish Shop," he responded, reaching over to Molly and sucking her fingers, which made her giggle delightedly. She reciprocated and then took the remainder of the chips and put them in the fridge to have for lunch the next day, before washing her hands in the bathroom and going back to lay sideways on the bed. Sherlock tossed the rubbish in the provided bin, then washed his own hands and returned to the bed, as he also lay, facing her.

"You know, we still have that dessert in the fridge, if you want it," commented Molly, looking at Sherlock inquiringly. She was not hungry anymore, but wanted to make sure Sherlock was aware there was other food if he wanted it.

Sherlock patted his tummy. "I think I need to let this settle first, but in the meantime…" He pulled Molly towards him for a long, sensual kiss that made her forget everything but him for several minutes.

Once their lips parted, Sherlock whispered in her ear, "I think I'm fully recovered now, if it would please you to indulge in a little lovemaking?" He pulled back and gave her a sultry glance.

Without a word, Molly gave him a seductive look of her own and began to unbutton his shirt, and a short time later they were naked and lying entwined once again, taking delight in the deep love and passion they shared.

Later, Sherlock went for a walk downstairs to pick up some utensils from the kitchen with which to eat their dessert from the previous day. This time, they took turns feeding each other the two delectable treats. Neither was able to decide whether the rich chocolate mousse cake was superior to the fruity passion-fruit panna cotta or vice versa.

Following dessert, they rested on the bed, watching a television show neither of them remembered afterwards. They touched each other frequently in different ways, tickling, stroking, rubbing, massaging, caressing, kissing.

And when once more the embers burst into flame, they made love and then slept until morning.

* * *

 **Author's note:** *Bites lip anxiously* I hope people are not finding this honeymoon to be just a bunch of plotless sex scenes, because that really is not my intention. Personally, I really dislike stories with no purpose and gratuitous sex. When I don't see much in the way of reader response, it makes me question whether writing such a descriptive honeymoon is an appropriate use of my writing time and if it compromises my Christian values by doing so. My motivation for this was to write something that would really highlight the freedom to enjoy intimacy in marriage, and I do try to demonstrate that through the dialogue, the fun, and the flirtation that goes along with it. Am I getting it across, or am I taking things too far? Upcoming chapters involve the use of Meena's gift to Molly on her hen night (blindfold/velvet handcuffs/feather) and more, er, "locations" where Sherlock and Molly make love. I'm wondering whether it would be better for me to cut all that stuff and just publish the meaty, heartfelt dialogue between Sherlock and Molly which really relates back to the Journey story and addresses some of their feelings on things (Molly's claustrophobia, Sherlock's touch sensitivity). I want my writing to mean something that goes beyond just entertainment value.

Please, if you are reading this, let me know your thoughts. If you don't want to leave a review, at least send me a PM and let me know whether you feel I am not upholding my own Christian values in what I am writing. I want to draw people closer in their relationship with God, not further away, and if I am providing a false witness that conflicts with that, I should not be bringing people down. If I don't hear from readers, I will assume people are too embarrassed to leave feedback, and will heavily cut/revise the story to leave out most of the sexual content. Then I will condense the chapters (currently there are 18).

Depending on what I hear, it may take time before I continue with this, particularly if I don't hear anything, in which case making the revisions will take some time.

Sorry for the long author's note; I hope you have taken the time to read through it and can understand my inner turmoil. In this case, you, the reader, hold all the power to determine the future of this story.

One final note, the Kingfisher is a real shop in Stratford-upon-Avon. As you know, I try to keep things as authentic as possible.


	7. Shared Shower and a Chess Game

**Author's note 1:** After a lot of soul searching and contemplating whether I should just omit the next three chapters, I've decided to continue the story as is for a couple reasons:

 **1:** I researched online about whether writing sex scenes is a conflict for Christians. From what I read, published Christian authors explained that writing sex scenes, when done tastefully and not gratuitously, is just as valid as writing about murders or any other type of scene. It is an important part of human nature and should not be perceived as something shameful. Conveying the emotion behind the physical act also helps to show it as an act of love. This is always how I try to write my scenes, showing the joy of intimacy, especially when within the covenant of marriage as I am writing with this particular story. It's a honeymoon, there's gonna be a lot of sex, I'm afraid. That's real life. But there is also a lot of extremely deep, intense conversation going to happen as well in future chapters, so hopefully the read is worthwhile.

 **2.** I can request reviews, favourites and follows till I am blue in the face and most people simply don't care enough about me or my stories to respond. It is disappointing, but I can live with it, because I understand that to most people, fanfiction is just a lending library and they don't want interaction with the writers. Those who actually do leave feedback and give constructive reviews have always assured me that my writing (even sex scenes) is not uncomfortable to read, and is tastefully done. (Thank you to those of you who have addressed my concerns with that). With no tangible evidence to think differently, I'll go with that premise. If you feel otherwise, I asked for your opinion and you chose to not give it.

 **3.** I realized I cannot hold myself accountable for what other people read, nor their comfort level. Those who do read my works are aware of how far I will take things, and they can decide whether it is better to stick with my T-rated works (and there are plenty of those too). In any case, I'll continue to write love scenes in a tasteful, loving manner, and I will continue to write about God and faith, because that is my calling here. God is love, and we were created to love one another, and Song of Solomon in the Bible talks about sexual love too, so I guess if it is good enough to be in the Bible, it's good enough for me.

Thanks for reading.

* * *

Sherlock woke after a restful night. He could tell it was still quite early. There was enough light though, that he could see Molly's face and the way her hair tumbled around her shoulders. There was a faint smile on her face and he spent a few moments just looking at her, marveling over the fact that they had now been married for two days. Two perfect days. He slid his arm out from beneath her and got out of the bed, deciding it was time to have a shower.

Trying not to disturb Molly, he quietly pulled open the drawer in which she had put his boxers and withdrew a pair.

Then he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He had no sooner stepped into the tub and under the spray of water, when he heard the sound of Molly moving around in the bedroom. Within a minute she opened the door to the bathroom and came in.

She pulled aside the shower curtain and asked, with a shy smile, "May I join you?" She was holding the new vanilla and patchouli body wash. She had also taken off the locket necklace.

Sherlock swallowed, aware that his body was responding already to her beautifully naked form. "You may enter at your own risk," he informed her, moving further under the spray to allow her room to step into the tub as well.

She put down the body wash at the edge of the tub, then stepped into it. She pushed him even further along the length of the tub so that he was barely getting any of the water and she was getting most of it. He frowned at her, even while he watched the way she had moved to let the water cascade down her hair, certain she was doing it on purpose to tempt him. "Hey! No fair! I was here first."

She gave him a mischievous glance. "Then why don't you come closer to me?" She held out her arms invitingly and he stepped so their bodies were touching. His arms came around her, one hand pressing against the small of her back and the other her perfectly rounded bottom as he bent to Kiss her, feeling the water spray now hit his own hair.

When their lips parted, Molly bent down and picked up a flannel from the side of the bathtub. She handed it to him, then picked up the bottle of body wash and presented him with it also. "You did such a good job of washing me in the bath on our wedding night, I thought perhaps you might like to wash me again in the shower?" She phrased it as a question, giving him a suggestive look that made him draw in his breath. He knew exactly where she was going with this.

"I would be most pleased to wash your body for you, as long as you reciprocate in kind," he informed her with a suggestive look of his own. Then he added, "But you are not using that flowery smelling body wash on me, I'll just take the soap."

Molly nodded her assent then stepped back a pace and waited.

Sherlock obligingly squeezed some body wash onto the now wet flannel and began to wash his wife's body, cleansing every inch of her, eliciting several giggles when he got to those particularly sensitive areas. He thought about that feather in their suitcase, and how much he looked forward to using it to tickle her. _Perhaps that's something we can do today,_ he thought silently.

After washing Molly's hair, massaging her scalp as he did so in a way that made her sigh with pleasure, it was his turn to receive attention.

He set down the body wash onto the side of the tub, and picked up the soap and flannel, going so far as to turn the soap over and over inside the flannel to make a soapy lather, before handing it to Molly.

She washed his body, taking an extraordinarily long time on his buttocks area, until he had to say, swatting at her lingering hands, "Molly, if you take this long, the water is going to get cold."

"Fine," she huffed, darting a glance up at his face, "but you do have a very nice bum, just so you know."

He looked at her in amusement as she moved her attention to another part of his anatomy that was begging for attention. "I certainly hope there are other parts of me you find just as appealing," he murmured, and this time he pulled her towards him so she was left in no doubt what he meant.

"Sherlock!" she exclaimed, looking up at him. "I haven't washed your hair yet."

He huffed in annoyance. "Well hurry up then, Molly. You're the one who started this little game, but believe me, I intend to finish it." His words had the desired effect as her eyes widened and she caught her breath.

She wasted no more time in having him duck his head under the water so she could wash his hair and do her own massage of his scalp, which he enjoyed immensely. After his hair was rinsed clean, he took her in his arms again and kissed her under the water spray, longingly, deeply, sensuously.

His hands moved to caress her sweet breasts and she gasped in pleasure, fueling his own desire for her.

Making love in the shower was a rather interesting experience, he reflected afterwards. It was not perhaps the most comfortable thing, but there was certainly something erotic about standing beneath the water, feeling the displacement of the spray as they made love. It was also rather convenient to be able to cleanse themselves again afterwards, as well as cool down.

Sherlock turned off the shower taps and pulled aside the shower curtain, reaching with his long arms to grasp one of the towels. He placed it around Molly's shoulders then reached for the other towel, with which to dry himself.

Molly lifted a foot to step out of the tub and lost her balance, shrieking as she did so. With lightning reflexes, Sherlock managed to catch and steady her before she could fall back and bump herself against the edge of the tub.

She stood there for a moment, panting from the sudden fear of her foot slipping from beneath her. The towel had dropped from her shoulders and Sherlock picked it up putting it around her again and holding her close. "Okay, love?"

Her arms came around his waist and she buried her face in his chest. "You saved me, Sherlock. I've heard so many stories of people slipping in the bathtub and killing themselves by accident. What if you hadn't been here to save me?"

Her voice was muffled but he could hear the fear in it. He stroked her back gently. "But I _was_ here, sweetheart, and everything's fine."

She let out a deep, shuddering breath and tilted her head back to look at him. He was relieved to see she was not crying, although he did see her blink rapidly several times. "Thank you," she said simply.

"You're welcome," he said in a deep voice, adding a little wickedly, "I suppose that means from now on we must shower together so I can always save you."

Molly giggled then, and he knew her momentary fear had passed. "And if we share a shower every time, am I to expect the same…treatment?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

Sherlock's arms tightened around her as he kissed the top of her head. "Possibly."

She peeked up at him and quipped, "Just goes to show, I'm always falling for you, Sherlock," and he grinned at her.

This time, Sherlock stepped out of the shower first, being very careful not to slip, and then he helped Molly also out of it. Without being asked, he took the towel from her shoulders and used it to dry her hair a little before moving the towel downwards to dry her body as well.

Of course, once he was done, Molly wanted to do the same for him, so he had to duck his head in order to let her reach his own hair before she too dried his body. He thoroughly enjoyed this time of sharing.

Sherlock retrieved his boxers and put them on, noting that Molly had not brought anything into the bathroom with her. He admired her shapely curves as she preceded him out of the bathroom to get her own clothes.

He followed her into the bedroom and said, "If you get your hairbrush, I'll brush your hair for you before you get dressed."

Molly stopped walking and turned towards him. "Thank you, that would be lovely." She picked up her brush from the dressing table and handed it to him, then sat on the bed with her legs crossed. Sherlock sat behind her with one leg on either side of her and he proceeded to brush out her hair, gently untangling the knots that had formed, until it was smooth, and he was satisfied.

He handed her back the hairbrush. "All done."

She tossed her head and he admired the way her hair flowed around her softly, settling back onto her shoulders, looking shiny and still slightly damp. His own hair of course needed nothing but a quick ruffle of his curls. Molly of course insisted on doing the honours.

He cast a glance out the window and saw that the sky had lightened significantly, then darted a look at the alarm clock. It was past eight, and time for them to go down to breakfast. "I guess we should get dressed now and head down to breakfast."

They dressed quickly and then he asked, offering his arm to her, "Ready to go?"

"Mmm, definitely," she responded, taking his arm. "All this early morning activity has me quite famished."

Sherlock snorted at that. "I was the one doing all the work, Mrs. Holmes. If anyone should be hungry, it's me."

She smirked at him. "And I was the one who had to keep a firm grip on the tub in that rather awkward position, if you recall."

He laughed, pressing a kiss to her temple, and they headed downstairs for breakfast.

Kara was waiting downstairs again, ready to make their breakfast. "Good morning," she said brightly. "Would you like some pancakes this morning, or can I make you something else?"

Sherlock smiled at her, then glanced at Molly. "I'm fine with pancakes, how about you, love?

"Pancakes are fine for me too,"she answered.

"Pancakes it is," Kara said, adding, "By the way, I have put some newspapers on the table for you. I think you might be interested." She headed to the kitchen while Sherlock and Molly went to the dining table.

There were two newspapers laying on it, and on the front page of each was a colour photograph from their wedding. One photograph was of just the two of them, in front of the church, while the other had the whole bridal party, and had obviously been taken at Hyde Park when they had been getting their official photographs taken.

Sherlock pulled the newspapers closer and they inspected them. "These are lovely," commented Molly. "It's strange seeing photographs of ourselves before we even get our official ones back." She glanced at him. "Don't we look happy?"

They were seated together at the table, and Sherlock slid his arm around her. "Well, of course we look happy," he told her loftily. "I should think anyone who had just married their soulmate would be feeling rather euphoric."

She giggled and leaned back into him. "I hope we can keep these pictures."

"Even if we can't, I'm sure somebody will clip them from the newspaper, either your mother or my parents," he told her, moving his head to give her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "I know you will want to add them to your album of newspaper memories."

"Absolutely," she agreed, placing a hand briefly on his knee to give it a quick squeeze.

They looked at the articles which both explained details of where and when they had been married and that they were leaving for an undisclosed location on their honeymoon.

"At least they didn't say _sex holiday_ ," noted Molly, giving Sherlock a gentle nudge with her elbow.

Sherlock chuckled and lifted a suggestive eyebrow, waggling it at her. "It would have been just as accurate though, wouldn't it?"

She didn't respond, because Kara came in at that point, bringing their pancakes, as well as butter and syrup.

"May we keep these newspapers?" Sherlock asked her.

"Oh, of course you can," Kara responded with a smile, that is why I picked them up. I thought you might like to see that your wedding had made the newspapers, although I'm not surprised. Front page even! You do make such a lovely couple."

Molly smiled and blushed, while Sherlock responded with, "That is very kind of you to say."

Kara had just turned to leave them, when Molly piped up with, "Oh, we were wondering if we could take the chessboard up to our room?"

"Of course you can. If you wish to play any boardgames in your bedroom, that is completely fine as well. Just return them to where you found them before you leave." With a smile and a wave she left them alone to eat.

Sherlock and Molly enjoyed their breakfast, there was a bowl of fruit on the table as well, and Molly selected a banana to add to her own pancakes.

Once they had finished eating, the pair went over to the chessboard. Fortunately it had drawers in which the pieces could be placed, so they put the pieces away in the drawers and Sherlock carried the chessboard upstairs for them, while Molly gathered the newspapers.

In their bedroom, Sherlock set the chessboard down on the small table beside the window. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing at the board.

"Absolutely," said Molly with a grin, after setting the papers down on the end of the dressing table.. "I look forward to beating the pants off of you – _literally_."

Sherlock chuckled. "That remains to be seen, my love."

They sat down at the chessboard and put the pieces on it correctly. "I'll let you go first, "said Sherlock, ushering Molly to the side on which white was.

"Why thank you, kind sir," Molly smirked, and Sherlock had the distinct feeling she had not been bluffing about her skill.

In the end, Sherlock found that they were quite evenly matched. What was most amusing was the fact that they were only halfway into the game and completely naked, having basically lost pieces alternately, first both losing bishops, then two sets of pawns, which left Sherlock naked, followed by one of Molly's knights, which precipitated the removal of her knickers, because she had the extra article of clothing with her bra, much to Sherlock's irritation.

"Next time we will need to add extra layers of clothing, I suppose," he commented dryly.

Molly burst out laughing, and finally Sherlock smiled and joined in. They were nowhere close to completing the game. "Whose idea was this anyway?" she asked between bouts of laughter, as she made her next move, taking Sherlock's own knight. "You don't even have any clothes left to take off!"

Sherlock gave her a smouldering look. "This one was entirely your idea, my love. Considering we are both naked already, are you sure you want to continue with this game?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Molly tossed her head. "Oh no you don't. I fully intend to win this game."

And win it she did, although Sherlock was never quite sure whether she won due to her chess prowess, or _chest_ prowess which kept distracting him. She certainly spent a lot of time putting her hands behind her head casually and leaning back giving him a full view of those luscious curves, while waiting for him to make his next move. Next time though, he was determined that they would play the game fully clothed so that it was completely fair.

On her cry of "Checkmate!" he laid his king down on the board and stood. Molly stood as well. "Do I get a reward?" she asked, giving him a mischievous look and crossing her arms in front of her chest as if in shyness, which was rather silly, considering her bottom half was completely exposed, even more silly, considering the way she had been deliberately exposing her breasts to him during the game.

He glanced at the clock to see the time, then looked down at her, a smile playing over his lips. "I think it's time for an early lunch, and after that you can decide whether I give you a massage or we try out that blindfold and handcuffs while I tickle you with that black feather."

She uncrossed her arms and wound them around his neck instead. "How about lunch and then we do both?" Then she added, "and don't forget - you have to do your part and wear that thong from Mrs. Hudson."

He rolled his eyes. He had been hoping she would forget about that particular article of skimpy clothing, but if she were to make him wear it, at the very least she would also have to wear those crotchless knickers. He pulled her close, giving her a lingering kiss, teasing her with an experimental tiny shoulder massage, before releasing her so they could eat those chips which would definitely not taste as good cold, but would save them needing to go out anywhere for lunch.

Oh yes, he was very much looking forward to the afternoon and evening ahead, and the best part was, he didn't even have to worry about taking off her clothes, because they were already on the floor next to the chessboard, just as his own were.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** Yes, slipping in the shower can be fatal, although it usually happens to the elderly. Did you enjoy their rather unsuccessful attempt at playing strip chess?

So, heads up on the next chapter - if you don't wanna read about the handcuffs/blindfold/feather, you might want to give it a miss.


	8. Massage and Feather Torment

**Author's note 1:** Final warning that this chapter contains descriptions of using those hen night gifts from Meena, and it is quite flirty and sensual, but aside from that, it's actually pretty tame compared to some of the more steamy scenes.

* * *

Molly pulled out two bottles of apple juice and the remaining chips from the little fridge and set them on the bed for Sherlock and herself to share.

They reclined on either side of the food, and Molly felt rather like a Roman or Greek person of old. If only she had been wearing a toga. Of course she wasn't about to complain about the fact that her husband lay naked across from her, completely at his ease, looking like a Greek god himself.

They ate the chips rather unenthusiastically. Molly wasn't particularly hungry anyhow, and she assumed the bowl of fruit would still be on the table downstairs if they got peckish later. She did enjoy the juice however.

Once they had finished eating, Sherlock threw away the container from the chips, and the empty juice bottles, while Molly walked over to the dressing table. The massage oil was on top of it, but she ignored it and opened the top drawer, searching for Meena's hen night gifts - the satin blindfold, velvet handcuffs and black feather, as well as the crotchless knickers. She withdrew them and set them on top of the dressing table, then hunted some more for the thong which Mrs. Hudson had playfully purchased for Sherlock to wear. Molly remembered her embarrassment as she had taken it out of the box on her hen night, after removing the French maid outfit. Mrs. Hudson was _definitely_ not a traditional elderly woman!

Finding the thong at last, Molly pulled it out of the drawer as well. She stood there for a few moments, suddenly feeling doubt rush through her. Was indulging in this kind of activity a little _too_ naughty?

Sherlock came up to stand beside her, settling his arm over her shoulders. He seemed to sense her uncertainty.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he inquired, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

Molly gestured at the items on the dressing table, then turned her head to look up at him. "I was just wondering if doing this kind of stuff is a bit - you know - _kinky_?"

He looked at her thoughtfully, considering her words. Then he said, "I do not think it is in any way kinky or wrong. Our marriage covenant gives us the blessing to enjoy sexual intimacy. I do not believe that intimacy need necessarily be just traditional. God did create us as sexual beings, after all. It is my considered opinion that as long as we are not doing something to harm one another, or something that makes the other person feel uncomfortable, there is no reason why we cannot explore different avenues and methods with which to heighten our sexual enjoyment."

After he finished speaking, he gazed at her steadily, and she knew he was giving her the option to say no, if she did not feel comfortable.

She pondered his words, then ventured her own opinion, feeling peace about it and looking back into Sherlock's eyes. "I think you are right, in fact, I'm sure you are. I think as long as we do not allow our faith to be weakened by becoming obsessed with things of a sexual nature, doing these fun little things is not wrong in God's eyes."

Then, serious conversation over, she reached out for the thong and pressed it into Sherlock's free hand. His hand closed over it reluctantly, and she remembered what he had said about not doing something one felt uncomfortable about. She had to be fair to him.

She bit her lip, then looked up at him and said, "Sherlock, I'm sorry. You don't have to wear it if it makes you feel uncomfortable. Like you said, it isn't right to do something unless both parties feel comfortable with it." She reached for his hand and tried opening his fingers to remove the thong.

He pulled his hand away from her, refusing her access. "Thank you for thinking of me, my love, but I am happy to do this for you. If you are going to be wearing those knickers for me, the least I can do is reciprocate with something you will find enjoyable as well." The hand that was still over her shoulder squeezed it gently.

"Are you sure?" she asked anxiously, feeling guilty for even making him feel as if he needed to do something for her benefit.

"Very sure," he said with a smile, removing his arm from her shoulders and proceeding to put on the thong, to prove his point.

Molly looked at his body, and the area that was now covered by the thong and drew in her breath. How interesting that it could be just as exciting to see him covered in that way, as seeing him completely naked. "Oh," she breathed, "that does look rather sexy on you."

Sherlock grinned at her, bending his head to press a soft kiss to her lips before saying, "I'm glad you approve. Are you going to put on your own knickers now?" The look he gave her sent a ripple of excitement running through her.

"Oh yes, I should do that,"she responded, picking up the knickers and stepping into them. She looked up at Sherlock and was rewarded by the look of hunger in his eyes as his gaze drifted over her figure.

"So, what next?" she ventured, feeling her heartbeat accelerate.

"Why don't we bring the things over to the bed?" he suggested, picking up the handcuffs and black feather as he spoke.

Molly picked up the blindfold and the bottle of massage oil, and together they walked to the bed.

They both sat on the edge of it, and Sherlock asked, "Would you like a massage first, or would you like me to massage you while you are wearing these little items?" He indicated the blindfold and handcuffs.

She pondered for a moment. "Let's leave those for when you use the feather, it might be a little awkward to have my wrists bound together if you are going to massage my back."

Sherlock nodded his agreement, setting the blindfold and handcuffs onto the bedside table, along with the feather. "Why don't you lay on your stomach in the middle of the bed, and I will straddle you so I can massage you properly?" he suggested.

"That sounds good," Molly agreed, lifting her legs up onto the bed and slithering into position on her stomach. She lifted her arms so that she moved her head sideways and rested her cheek on her hands.

Sherlock climbed onto the bed also, squeezing some of the massage oil into his palm, then rubbing both hands together as he positioned himself on his knees over Molly's prone body.

Then his warm hands begin to work their magic. Molly had experienced his massages before, but this was the first time he had actually used massage oil, and she enjoyed both the smell and feel of the oil against her skin as he moved his fingers and thumbs along her shoulders and her spine. She knew he had looked up massage techniques on YouTube, and he was a wonderful masseuse.

She moaned with pleasure as his thumbs pressed into those little areas that were always a little sore, massaging away the little aches in her muscles. "Oh," she breathed, "if you ever decided to retire from being a detective, you could become a personal masseuse."

She heard Sherlock's rumble of laughter. "Are you saying you would be willing for me to share my expertise with other clients in this manner?"

She giggled, then let out another moan as Sherlock found another sensitive spot with his wonderful strong thumbs. "You're right, I take it back. I don't want to share your hands with anyone. I'm kind of selfish that way." Then she added, "But I would be quite happy for you to be my personal masseuse whenever you feel like practicing."

He chuckled again and she felt him bend over, then kiss her neck. She felt her body responding, feeling the need to be with him rising within her. She closed her eyes and enjoyed a full twenty minutes of Sherlock's massaging prowess before he finally gave her one last stroke of the back and announced, "There you go, Mrs. Holmes. I hope you enjoyed your reward for winning the chess game."

He slid off of her back and put the bottle on the nightstand, then returned to lay beside her.

Molly shifted her body so that she was facing him, keeping her cheek cupped on her hand. Her back felt absolutely wonderful, and the smell of her skin from the fragrant flower and vanilla scent pervaded her nostrils. She looked into Sherlock's fathomless eyes, reaching her free hand to stroke his wonderful curls. "I have a confession to make," she admitted.

He smiled at her. "There's no need to confess, my love. I know very well that you were trying to distract me with those little gestures while we were playing chess. The fact that you succeeded in doing so is entirely my own fault for being so easily distracted by the sight of your exquisite figure."

She blushed, feeling extraordinarily pleased that he considered her figure _exquisite_ , despite the fact that she was not well-endowed in the chest department. "Figured it out, did you?" Then she giggled. "I might have known you would be too clever to not realise what I was doing. Next time, I promise it will be fair, no intentional distraction involved." She tweaked one of his curls lightly, enjoying the silky feel of it under her fingers.

Sherlock gave her a lazy smile and stroked her side, running his fingers down it delicately. "Well, Mrs. Holmes, are you ready for phase two?"

Molly imagined his fingers being replaced by the feather and being unable to see where he was going to touch her next. She swallowed, feeling a little nervous. "I think so."

Sherlock turned around to pick up the blindfold and handcuffs, then turned back towards her. "First off, sweetheart, I want you to know that if you tell me to stop at any time, I will do so." He was gazing at her earnestly, and she knew she need not ever be afraid with him.

"I understand, and I trust you," she told him, looking at the handcuffs. They weren't really handcuffs in the traditional sense of the word. They were two separate things. Each handcuff was velvet on the inside and it fastened with Velcro. Attached to the cuff was a long strap of flat almost inch wide woven material. It seemed that the material restraint was designed to be wound around something like a bed post. So each cuff was designed with the intention of keeping the arms away from the body.

Sherlock picked up one of the cuffs. "These are definitely not like the handcuffs I'm used to," he commented, inspecting the velvet cuff with his thumb and the length of the woven material. He looked at Molly. "There's nothing for me to tie you to in here." He furrowed his brow in consternation.

"I suppose you could just put my arms above my head and place each of my wrists in a cuff and then tie the two pieces together?" she suggested, as lost as he was in what you actually did with something like this, especially when you did not have something available with which to use the restraints.

Sherlock looked at her then back down at the cuffs. "All right then," he finally agreed. "Lay on your back and put your hands above your head."

Molly followed his directions and lifted her hands upwards, then she slid down on the bed. Sherlock bent over her and she was treated to the sight of his wonderful, naked chest, as he gently placed each wrist in a cuff and fastened the Velcro. He then tied the two long length of the ties together. It was an interesting sensation, she mused, having her arms above her that way and being exposed to him.

Then came the blindfold which Sherlock placed gently over her eyes, pulling the elastic so it was fixed behind her head. Now she could no longer see Sherlock, which she greatly regretted, but she still felt a little thrill of anticipation run through her at the thought of the black feather he would be using to tickle her.

A few moments later, to her surprise, Molly did not feel the touch of a feather on her body, but instead Sherlock's lips pressing gently against her own. Even as he moved his lips over hers and hers parted beneath his, she felt her heartbeat accelerate and her breath begin to quicken. It was an extraordinary feeling, relying on the touch of her lips alone. She could not hold him as she would have liked to do, to stroke his curls. Instead, she surrendered herself to the sensation of his wonderful lips plundering her mouth, causing sensation to flood through her whole body. She let out a sigh of pleasure as he continued to kiss her, not touching any other part of her body. When is mouth left hers, she gave a little sigh of disappointment.

She felt the movement of the bed as Sherlock shifted his position, and then a few moments later, she felt the delicate touch along the skin of her torso. She let out a little gasp of surprise. Sherlock said nothing, but she could feel his nearness as she felt the feather drifting across her breasts, circling them, and she began to giggle. The feather moved along her skin, tracing a random path along her belly, causing her to giggle even more. It was quite a torment to feel something so light. Molly had always been ticklish, but it seemed that the lighter the touch, the more ticklish she became.

The feather moved to go down her legs and she felt the shift of Sherlock's body as he followed its movement downwards. She giggled again at the sensation, although it was not as intense as on her chest and stomach. When the feather reached her feet though, she couldn't decide if she loved it or hated it. She flexed her toes and began to laugh harder.

Her feet began to twitch. "Sh...Sherlock! Enough!" She finally begged, unable to take the torment on her feet any longer. The feather was immediately removed.

Then it returned again, as Molly felt Sherlock move so that she could sense he was close to her shoulders. She felt the feather tracing a line along her arms all the way up to her bound wrists, one at a time. It felt nice but was not enough to make her laugh out loud. That was, until she felt the feather on her armpits. Unable to stop herself, she shrieked with laughter as Sherlock trailed the feather lightly from one armpit to the other. She knew he remembered how ticklish she had been in the bath on their wedding night. She endured it for all of thirty seconds before she begged him to stop, and he did so.

By this time, her whole body was tingling from the torment and the desire to feel Sherlock with her again, rather than the feather. "Enough with the feather,"she managed to say breathlessly.

And then she felt Sherlock's lips on her own once again, delighting her. This time his hands began to touch her body instead, more firmly. He continued to kiss her, changing his position to place one hand beneath her neck and the other in a path of exploration down her body.

It felt so strange, being kissed and touched this way and not being able to see the man who was doing it. Sherlock had remained silent this whole time and suddenly she needed to see him, to feast her eyes upon the face of the man she loved. "Please, take the blindfold off now," she pleaded, and Sherlock immediately complied, removing his wandering hand from her body to gently lift the blindfold up and off her head.

He gazed down at her then and she could feel her heart pounding at the expression of love and desire on his face.

"Molly," he whispered, "my love."

"Handcuffs too, please," she pleaded, raising her arms and holding them in front of her so he could remove them. She wanted to be able to touch him. The cuffs were dispensed with and she was finally able to wrap her arms around his neck, drinking in the feel of his warm, sensual lips. His hand had returned to wandering her body, eliciting new sensations of torment and pleasure until she was gasping for him.

She removed the hand from around his neck to the elastic of his thong, tugging at it in a mute plea. He dispensed with the material, doing the same with her knickers. And then his body covered her own as they united in joy and love. Their hearts beat as one in an accelerated rhythm as they luxuriated in their union, reaching the heights of ecstasy together, and tumbling earthward once again in a bliss of spent passion.

When she was lying in his arms afterwards, Sherlock asked, after pressing a soft kiss to Molly's forehead, "How did you enjoy our little game, Mrs. Holmes?"

Molly sighed happily and snuggled closer to his warmth. "It was wonderful, Sherlock. Everything you did just increased the sensation that much more. Being blindfolded that way as well was so interesting, to feel your lips like that on mine. Every sensation in my body was heightened when I couldn't see you. Now I think I understand what they say about people who are blind, how their other senses become more heightened." She dipped her head to press a kiss against his chest, watching his own sharp intake of breath as she did so, knowing and loving the way his chest was so sensitive. Next time she would have to be the one using the feather and the blindfold and the cuffs, she thought to herself.

Echoing her thoughts, Sherlock said, "Well, my sweet one, next time it's your turn to do all those things to me. After all, I need to see for myself if things are as you say."

"Mmm, yes," she murmured, settling her arm properly over his chest as she pressed her body close to his, and they both slept.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** I did give you advance notice on this chapter, so if you read it and thought it too risqué, well, I make no apologies, because Molly and Sherlock were having sexy, married fun. I was also trying to demonstrate their complete trust they have with each other and respect for one another's boundaries and comfort level.

And really, on a lighter note, isn't Molly a lucky girl to see Sherlock in a thong? LOL

Let me know if you enjoyed their little love game!


	9. Dinner and Monopoly

When Sherlock woke from his afternoon nap, he turned his head to look at the digital display on the clock beside him. It was past four o'clock. Molly's body was still pressed against his and he felt such contentment. They had now been married three days.

He shifted his head slightly to look at her sleeping countenance, admiring the way her eyelashes curled upwards at the ends and the sweet indentation to her upper lip. He loved her perfectly shaped nose, eyebrows which were neither too thick not too thin, and her ears with those lovely delicate lobes…

He couldn't resist turning his head further to plant a little kiss on her earlobe and suck on it gently.

She stirred and opened her eyes. He loved the warmth contained within those coffee coloured orbs.

Her hand had still been resting on his chest, but she raised it now to place her small palm on his cheek as she tilted her head slightly, and he kissed her tenderly. Then he pulled back a little and asked, "What would you like to do this evening, sweetheart?"

Molly moved to lay on her back and stretch languorously. They had not bothered to pull the duvet up all the way over themselves earlier, so it only came up as far as their waists, and Sherlock knew perfectly well that Molly was deliberately tempting him with that little stretching exercise. She peeked over at him expectantly. "I can think of a few things," she purred.

He chuckled and raised himself on his elbow to look at her. "You are insatiable, woman. I'm not a sex god, remember, nor a sex-machine," he protested, even as his gaze raked over her figure and a certain part of his anatomy stirred into wakefulness as if to prove otherwise.

Molly's own eyes travelled along the length of his body and she turned towards him once more, put her hand upon his chest, and then began to boldly move it downwards. Her voice was seductive as she responded, "Could have fooled me."

He stopped her hand's progression, albeit a little reluctantly, before she could reach her intended target. He tried to speak sternly. "Molly, we've already made love twice today, and if you want me to have enough stamina to do it again before bed, we had best think of something else to distract us for now."

"We did it four times yesterday," she muttered, and he hid an amused smile. She might know how many times they had made love the previous day, but he knew exactly how many times it had happened so far - eleven.

She pouted at him prettily, then rolled away from him and off the bed. He sighed a little, hoping she wasn't cross with him. He probably was up for it again, (no pun intended), but he was trying to be practical. They did need to have dinner at some point, after all. He sat up, trying to gauge by her body language whether she was irritated. Then he closed his eyes, because looking at her shapely bottom was not going to help him be practical.

Her voice came to him, sounding contrite. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. This is just so new to me, especially after the weeks we spent denying ourselves in order to be obedient to God. I just love spending every moment with you, learning how to please you in every way." He heard the dressing table drawer open, and knew she was finding clothes to wear. "Keep your eyes closed, please."

Sherlock was surprised, but he did as he was told, laying back down and putting his hands behind his head. He heard Molly rummaging through the drawers, opening and closing them, and finally she said, "You can open them now."

She was fully clothed in a short-sleeved pink blouse and flower patterned knee length skirt, and she was holding a pair of boxers for him. He decided she had deliberately tried to do the right thing, so that she wouldn't tempt him, and he very much appreciated the gesture. She walked over to the bed and handed him the boxers.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he said, taking them from her and slipping out of the bed himself to put them on. He stood next to her and bent his head to give her a soft kiss of appreciation, as his thumb stroked her cheek. Then he too went to find some clothes to wear.

A short time later they left their room and headed downstairs hand in hand, then out to the parking lot.

Sherlock drove again, and this time they decided to eat dinner at Loxley's Restaurant and Wine Bar, another Sheep Street offering.

Sherlock chose a bottle of wine, so they could take what was left back to the B&B afterwards. They both decided to order steak once again.

"Oh my goodness,"exclaimed Molly, after reading the different steak temperature guidelines. "Who on earth would ever order their steak 'blue'?"

Sherlock read the description. _Blue - Seared on the outside, completely red on the inside, cold._ "Perhaps this place is frequented by zombies," he quipped with a straight face, and Molly laughed.

As they ate their steaks, Sherlock's being medium rare and Molly's well done once again, he felt Molly's foot rubbing against his leg under the table. They were sitting across from one another at a small table in the corner. Obviously she had worn slip-on shoes for this purpose, and he quite enjoyed the feeling of her toes against his leg. Impulsively, he stepped on the heel of his one shoe and slid his own foot out of it. Their feet did a tantalising little dance together as they ate. It was probably a ridiculously childish thing to do, playing footsies under the table, but then again, he really hadn't ever done anything childish like that, so it was fun. The steak was exceptional as was the wine, which was a sweet dessert wine.

After they had eaten their meal, the couple put their shoes back on, took the remainder of the wine, paid the bill and returned to the B&B.

Upon their return to their bedroom, Molly began to set up the Monopoly board on the floor, claiming it would be easier to play there if she were going to also act as banker.

Sherlock watched as she set things up, then commented, "It has been many years since I've played Monopoly. I don't think I have played it in over ten years, and that was at my parents' house. It used to be a Christmas tradition to play at least one game together around Christmas, but eventually I refused to play."

Molly looked up from sorting the bank notes to look at him questioningly. "Why?"

There was a twist to Sherlock's lips as he responded. "I never did go in much for games where the end result was predicated for the most part on the roll of the dice. I much preferred games of strategy like chess." He paused and added with a little smirk, "In addition, it got tiresome when Mycroft would complain each time I won, so it was easier to not play at all."

Molly began to dole out their money. "I guess I can understand that, but it's just supposed to be a fun game." She had obviously played the game on enough occasions to know how much of each bank note to distribute.

"You have to remember, my love, I really wasn't one for _fun_ activities." He picked up his money, opting to keep it in one pile, with the smallest denomination in the front. Molly kept hers separate, and the money from the bank to the side, as well as the cards for the different properties. She handed him the chance and community chest cards to shuffle and set up on the board.

Molly picked up a thimble token to use for herself. "Here's a bit of trivia for you," she informed Sherlock with a grin. "The new versions of this game don't even have the thimble anymore. I remember reading an article that they were replacing the thimble, the boot and the wheelbarrow with a T-Rex, a rubber ducky and a penguin."

Sherlock looked over at her, surprised. "Now that is interesting. I guess it is a sign of the changing times. However," here he picked up the top hat and set it on the board, "at least they didn't get rid of _my_ favourite piece."

Molly grinned at him. "Why am I not surprised that you would go for the most dignified token?"

He sniffed in mock haughtiness. "But of course, my dear," he said in a lofty tone. I _do_ have royal blood in me, you know."

Molly giggled and reached a hand out to trace those aristocratic cheekbones briefly. "That you do, and I am one of the poor working class, thus, the thimble is an appropriate token for me."

His hand came to encompass her own as it lay against his cheek, and he slid it so he could kiss her palm. "You are the salt of the earth, my darling," he told her, with a note of passion in his voice, and he felt her hand quiver.

They settled down to playing the game. Sherlock felt quite triumphant when he was able to procure Marylebone station. He followed that with Kings Cross station and Liverpool Street station, but Molly snagged the Fenchurch one, preventing him from a monopoly of train stations.

Molly was excited to purchase both Park Lane and Mayfair, while Sherlock was content with having monopolies of the yellow cards and the brown ones.

Neither of them was able to come to an agreement to trade for any other monopolies, and so they contented themselves with putting houses and hotels on the monopolies they did have.

Play progressed for some time, with a lot of money exchanging hands, but then Molly had a run of bad luck, and found herself repeatedly getting caught on Sherlock's properties with hotels. His dice rolls seemed to be magical, allowing him to constantly miss her own Park Lane and Mayfair properties. In the end, with an unfortunate throw that landed her on Piccadilly, Molly had to concede defeat.

"You win," she huffed in a rather annoyed tone which Sherlock found quite amusing. Is _Molly not a good sport when it comes to losing?_

"Another game?" he suggested, beginning to gather the pieces together.

She looked at him, and her gaze softened. "Not today. We've already been playing for two hours and I think it's time to move on to something else." She gave him a meaningful look and his heartbeat quickened.

It took several minutes to clear everything away, to put the banknotes away and the properties in the correct order, (at Molly's insistence), as well as gather the pieces to return to plastic bags. _This game requires way too much attention in setting it up and putting it away,_ he thought a little irritably, as he finally slid the lid onto the top of the box.

Molly headed to the bathroom while Sherlock set the box back onto the dressing table. When she returned, he also took his turn in the bathroom. When he had finished, he found Molly laying casually on the bed. She was on her back and her hair framed her face, spilling around her shoulders. They had both dispensed with their shoes upon entering the bedroom, and he had also taken off his socks. Now he climbed onto the bed to join her, lifting a hand to trace her face delicately with his fingers. "You are so beautiful," he murmured, and she gave him a smile that set his heart beating quickly again.

She in turn reached up to gently pull at one of his curls. "You're beautiful too."

He grasped her wrist and kissed it, then growled, "Women are beautiful, not men. How many times must I remind you of that?"

She giggled. "You can remind me as many times as you like, it won't change my perception of you. I will always think you are beautiful, because it is the best word to describe you." She used her other hand to tug him toward her, and he allowed himself to be pulled into her, lowering his lips to hers and kissing her deeply, passionately. Tingles of sensation ran through him as they kissed and he used a hand to begin unbuttoning her blouse.

Molly too was not idle with her own hands, grasping at the buttons of his own shirt and undoing them one by one.

As Sherlock unbuttoned her blouse, he could feel that she was not wearing a regular bra, that something soft and silky extended beneath the bra-like cups. He raised his head to see what it was and his breath hitched. Apparently her instruction for him to close his eyes earlier had been for this reason, so that he would not see what she was putting on underneath her clothes. She was wearing the red babydoll he had purchased several weeks earlier, the most risqué of the lingerie., _the one I dreamed about her wearing in that erotic dream I had on the night before my stag night_. The bra cups, as well as the rest of the garment was made with sheer fabric and he could see the outline of her sweet breasts quite clearly beneath.

Molly gave him a seductive smile, even as she finished her own task and moved to slide his shirt from his shoulders. He did the same with her blouse, then dipped his head to place a kiss on each covered breast, sucking the fabric lightly and eliciting a little gasp from Molly.

He then set to work on removing her skirt as her hands reached for his too constricting jeans to unfasten them. She lifted her hips for him to remove the skirt and he was treated to the view of a rather skimpy G string that went along with the babydoll. _Good Lord,_ he thought, as his heart hammered and his body became awash with sensation at the sight, _Lingerie is a truly amazing thing._

Molly was tugging at his jeans, and he pulled back from her to peel them off, along with his boxers, breathing a sigh of relief. _If I have to buy jeans again, I am going to buy them in a larger size,_ he thought, then groaned slightly as Molly's hand reached for the target she had been denied earlier, making him almost dizzy with the desire he felt for her. He did his own exploration of her body, feeling the fabric of the babydoll on her skin, looking at how exquisite she was.

He captured her lips once again, bewitched by everything she offered him. He let out a groan as her small hand continued to tantalise him, but he tried not to think of what she was doing to him, instead, concentrating on what he could do for her. He trailed kisses down her neck to her shoulders, lifting his hands to slide the strap of either side down for better access. His hands moved to the base of the chiffon, sliding it up as Molly released her hold on him and obligingly lifted herself just enough so he could pull it up and over her head.

He buried his face in the valley between her breasts, sniffing the scent of her skin, both from the massage oil he had used earlier and her own natural scent which was calling to him. He drank deeply of the exquisite delights of her body, feeling the surge of desire rise within him as they joined once again, becoming one flesh as their hearts beat in tandem.

Their soft cries of shared passion increased, even as their bodies moved in a perfect rhythm together, until the tempest washed over them and the fulfillment of shared delight settled over them, bringing with it the languor and fatigue that accompanied it. They remained entwined, unwilling to separate for several minutes as their breathing became more even once again.

Finally, Sherlock raised himself on an elbow to support himself. His other hand came up to smooth away the slightly damp hair from Molly's flushed face. He pressed his lips to hers reverently, and said, "Every time we make love, it is so much more than merely physical for me. You touch my soul, Molly."

Her eyes were deep, dark pools that he could drown in, even as she responded. "You touch my soul too. You always have." Her own hand came up to stroke his face lovingly. "I'm so very glad we waited for this, because if I had had any idea of how intense these feelings would be whenever we make love, I think it would've become a bit of an obsession." She gave him a dreamy smile and he responded, kissing her once more.

Then he pulled her body so that they were laying face to face, reaching to entwine her fingers with his, and they drifted off into slumber with matching smiles upon their lips.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Ah, sweet intimacy! Did you enjoy the little footsie scene? Loxley's is a factual restaurant and the "blue" steak is part of the menu options. I'd have the same reaction at Molly. How do you like your steak?

Were you aware that Monopoly tokens have changed? I discovered it by accident, and thought it would be fun to add it to the story. Of course, I used the English version of the board game, which is what I grew up with in Australia. Marylebone Station means a lot more to me mow that I'm a Sherlock fan!

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are glad I decided not to cut it. The next chapter will have some very deep, meaningful conversation.


	10. Touching Conversation and Confession

**Author's note:** This chapter is probably what I would consider one of my deepest, and most meaningful ones to date. It addresses some issues that I feel Sherlock has had in the past, and it also addresses a topic that other writers have brought up. I would love to hear from readers with their opinions on the conversations that follow.

* * *

The feel of a kiss on her shoulder, and a hand massaging her other one brought Molly to wakefulness. She opened her eyes into the dawn light, just able to make out Sherlock's face as he looked at her. They were still facing one another and his leg was hooked over her legs as if to prevent her escape, not that she would ever want to escape from him.

She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and smiled at him, placing a hand against his chest. "Good morning, husband," she said softly, enjoying the feeling of the word on her lips. He was her _husband_ now, not a boyfriend or fiancé or partner.

"Good morning to you too, wife," he returned, and she felt as much of a thrill hearing him say those words to her in his deep voice, as she found in calling him her husband. Being a wife was the ultimate testament to the love she had for him. Her heart was full of that love. His hand moved from massaging his shoulder to touch her face, and he leaned in to kiss her softly, tenderly on the lips.

She moved her own hand from his chest to slide it around his back and pulled him closer, loving the warmth of his body against hers. That was apparently enough invitation for Sherlock, and he began to kiss her more urgently, insistently, demanding a response from her.

His hand roamed her body, touching her, evoking sensations that left her body on fire at his touch. He pressed his body closer and she responded, inviting him to be with her. They continued to touch and caress one another, kissing frequently even as they made love.

Afterwards, Molly couldn't resist teasing Sherlock as she snuggled in the shelter of his arms. "You told me you weren't a sex machine, but your actions seem to contradict that."

He chuckled, squeezing her shoulder lightly. "Don't you realise it's a new day, my love?"

Her lips curved upwards as she darted a glance at him. "So, you _are_ a machine, then. You just hit the reset button at midnight."

He returned her smile, then bent to give her a peck on the lips. "Oh dear, it seems I have been found out. I am really an artificial construct, an android, like Data from Star Trek. I received my emotion chip at Sherrinford."

She blinked at that. _Sherlock - a Trekkie?_ She herself loved the Star trek franchise, had spent many hours watching marathon sessions of _Star Trek - the Next Generation_ , _DS9_ and _Voyager_ on weekends during her time at uni, sometimes alone, sometimes with Meena, when her friend wasn't going out with another of her many men friends. It had been a good escape from the constant study of human anatomy and the medical knowledge she was accumulating.

She looked at him curiously. "Now that's something I didn't know about you. You're familiar with Star Trek?"

He placed his hand over hers, where it rested on his chest. "Familiar, yes. Immersed in, not so much. I've caught bits and pieces of the show and films on television over the years, like the emotion chip episode. It's funny, I felt as if I could relate to that, not feeling emotions the way most people did."

His expression changed and turned serious as he gazed at her. "I have a confession to make, Molly,"

She tensed at that, not sure what he was getting at, and her fingers curled slightly beneath his hand as it still lay on his chest. He shifted his position then, moving so he was facing her properly. "It's nothing to worry about, sweetheart. I just want to explain something to you."

She looked at him searchingly. "I'm guessing this has something to do with emotions, seeing as you were just talking about Data from Star Trek."

He nodded, releasing the hold he had on her hand to stroke her face gently. "Yes. I didn't tell you this before, but that night, when I came to you after Sherrinford, I was terrified."

She raised a brow questioningly. "In what way?"

"As you know, all those experiments conducted by my sister were designed to evoke an emotional response from me. The phone call to you and what happened was my breaking point. When I smashed the coffin afterwards, it was like a dam had burst within me. All the emotions I had repressed for so many years, manifested themselves in my actions." He paused and closed his eyes, and Molly could see he was reliving the events of that traumatic day.

He closed his eyes and frowned slightly, and she moved her hand to touch the frown lines with her finger, as if she could smooth them away. Then he opened his eyes and continued.

"After that, what I did to the coffin, I felt so broken, but I didn't cry. That only happened when I realised what had become of my friend, Victor. Yet even then, I didn't have a chance to really process everything that had happened, because I still had to find a way to save John."

Molly nodded her understanding, and waited for him to continue. She was still resting her hand on his face even as he did the same with hers, and he gazed intently into her eyes.

He drew in a deep breath. "The day after Sherrinford, when John came to see me, I told him I didn't want to lose you, and that I didn't want to be your boyfriend. I had stayed awake the entire night thinking about things, trying to determine if I could be worthy of you. In the end, I realised that it wasn't up to me to decide whether I was worthy, and it would not have been fair to deny you or myself a chance at happiness. It had to be your decision. You had already told me you loved me, and I couldn't bear the thought of hurting you anymore by trying to return things to the way they were."

He gave Molly a slight smile, then continued his monologue. "You should have heard John's reaction when I told him I was going to ask you to marry me, because I didn't want to take the chance of losing you. I didn't say so out loud to John, but I was thinking about Tom, and how you moved on with him. I couldn't bear the thought of that happening again." He paused again, to brush a kiss to her lips.

Molly sighed happily. It was amazing that this conversation had not come up before, but it was definitely interesting. She waited for him to continue.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense!" she said, growing impatient when Sherlock's eyes turned distant for several seconds. "What was John's reaction?"

He grinned then. "Patience, my love. I was just trying to recall John's exact words. They were, 'Don't you think you should at least kiss the girl first before you jump off the deep end?'"

Molly giggled. "That does sound like John, and it's true that you were contemplating a big leap. How did you respond to that?"

He chuckled. "I told him I'd make sure to kiss you before I proposed." Then his expression sobered. "But this is what I wanted to tell you. I wanted to kiss you, very much, as soon as you let me into your flat that night, but the thought of it terrified me as well."

"Why?" she questioned, intrigued at the notion he had been terrified about kissing her. "It's not like you haven't kissed a woman before. You _did_ kiss Janine after all, you told me so yourself."

He grimaced. "That was different. They weren't _real_ kisses, at least not in my eyes. I was doing it for a case, rather than being emotionally invested in it, so I was able to justify the action as part of that. It was just pressing my lips against hers, nothing more. I was like Data, going through the motions without actually feeling any physical response."

Molly nodded her understanding, and stroked her thumb along his cheek. "And with me?" she asked softly.

To her surprise, he didn't answer her question directly, but continued his line of thought. "For years, I have avoided physical touch. I never felt comfortable with it. Even those times I kissed your cheek, they were _big_ moments for me, and when I did kiss your lips in the lab, when I needed your help, there was something inside me that wanted the contact, but I was afraid of it. I backed away from it afterwards, and I know now that it was a self-defence mechanism, to protect myself. But when I came to you, I knew that mechanism was no longer in place. I knew when I kissed you, if you would allow me to, it was going to be different, because there would be no going back." He closed his eyes briefly, and she knew he was once again reliving a time from the past.

"When you did kiss me, how did it feel?" she asked gently. She knew that it had meant everything to her. The touch of his lips had been so much more wonderful than she had ever imagined, but she had never really thought about what their first proper kiss had meant to him.

His next words brought tears to her eyes, as he traced a thumb along her lips before responding. "I felt _everything_ , Molly. All those touches and physical sensations I had denied myself for years, those feelings slammed into me when we kissed." He gave her a loving smile. "It was a very – _validating_ moment for me, to know that I _could_ feel, could _allow_ myself to feel with you. And I knew that _you_ were the only one who could have brought me to that place."

Tears leaked from Molly's eyes at his beautiful words. Her voice was thick with tears as she responded, "Thank you for telling me this. It means so much to me to know how you felt that day." Her lips twitched. "Of course, obviously I knew you loved me because you proposed to me, but knowing what was going through your mind helps me to understand even more how difficult it must have been for you to fully acknowledge and embrace the emotions that you had repressed for so long. I love you so much." She couldn't help the note of passion in her voice as she said the last words.

He pressed his forehead against hers, thumbing away her tears. "I love you just as much, my darling." She heard the note of reverence in his voice, as well as passion. Then she realised there was a question she needed to ask. "Sherlock, do you still struggle with the idea of physical contact? I mean, is it hard for you at times to allow yourself to just feel?"

He leaned back slightly, considering her words. Finally he answered slowly. "I think it is still difficult for me sometimes to express things with physical touch with other people." He stopped to kiss her forehead, and continued. "But not with you." He moved his hand to slide it from her face, to her shoulder, and down her arm. "I love touching you, as often as possible, in every way."

Molly's hand moved to curve around his neck, stroking his curls, pressing herself closer. "I'm so glad," she whispered. "Because I love touching you too, and feeling you touch me."

She let out a little gasp as he cupped her bottom and pulled her tightly against him, "We should probably have had this conversation before we made love, because all of a sudden, I feel the need to show you again how much I love to touch you, how physical contact with you is definitely something I crave constantly." He kissed her then, starting with her lips and moving to her throat, giving homage to her sweet curves, drawing out her responses in gasps and whimpers as he caressed her lovingly with hands and mouth. He did not rush in his attentions, as he proved without words how comfortable he was with their expressions of physical contact and everything they did together, and they shared their bodies as indeed they shared their souls.

The light coming through the blinds in the room was significantly stronger as they lay there afterwards, still entwined, trying to get their breathing under control and hearts returning to a normal rhythm, before they would be ready to go downstairs for breakfast.

Sherlock stroked Molly's hair, and after some time she was surprised when he spoke seriously. "There's something I should tell you too that might explain a little why I have those sensitivities to touch, and explain even some of my past behaviour - not that I'm trying to make excuses, of course."

She turned her head upwards to look at him questioningly. "What do you mean, honey?"

"I suppose you are familiar with Asperger's syndrome?"

"Yes of course," she answered, drawing her brows together slightly. "It's the mildest form of autism." She paused for a moment, then seemed to connect his previous statement with the one before it. "You're not saying you have it, are you?"

His lips twisted slightly. "The therapist I was seeing after Mary's death suggested it might be a possibility, when I explained my behaviour to her. I mean, I can understand her reasoning. I know I have a tendency to speak without thinking, to avoid social interactions and the like."

Molly thought about the way Sherlock had acted in the past. He certainly had exhibited a lot of traits that someone with Asperger's might have, but had he presented in that manner even as a young child? Signs of autism were present at an early age weren't they? She kept her thoughts to herself as he continued.

"Anyway, my therapist had me take this test online." He frowned slightly, trying to remember. "It was an AQ test, or 'Autism Quotient' test. The results indicated I had Asperger's syndrome."

Molly shifted to lean on her elbow and look at him seriously. "With all due respect to your therapist, and not to make light of the condition, because I can understand why she might have come to that conclusion, based on the evidence presented to her, but she was not in possession of the facts that came to light afterwards."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "What facts?"

Molly rolled her eyes a little. "Everything that happened at Sherrinford, of course. You told me yourself that the events at Sherrinford provided an emotional breakthrough, that it restored your emotions. Don't you think the trauma from what happened with Victor, rather than having a neurological condition, might be what caused your subsequent behaviour over the following years?"

Sherlock blinked, as if trying to process her words, shifting his own body from his back to face her. "I hadn't thought of that. I've just been assuming, since that time, that I acted the way I did because of having the condition."

Molly decided to verbalise her earlier thoughts. "I guess it is possible, but let me ask you this, Sherlock. Did you exhibit symptoms of anti-social behaviour as a young child, before all that stuff with Victor happened?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "You know my memories from my early childhood are rather hazy, but I don't believe so. Even Mycroft said I changed after Redbeard - or rather Victor - disappeared. He said I was emotional before that."

"And don't forget what that man said in North Yorkshire to us, when we were there a few weeks ago. He said you cried about the fact that Jesus died on the cross, after that Good Friday service when you were a little boy," Molly pointed out, reaching a hand to link her fingers with his.

Sherlock's lips quirked. "So, you think I might be normal after all, just someone who acted the way I did due to outside stimuli?"

Molly frowned at him. "I hate to tell you this, honey, but _not_ having autism wouldn't make you normal in the traditional sense anyway - your high intelligence level isn't that of an average person, so someone could conceivably say you are abnormal because of your high IQ. 'Normal' is one of those subjective terms that really can't be defined. In any case, having autism doesn't make you abnormal, any more than a person with a physical disability is abnormal, at least, not in my eyes. It's a condition that just has to be managed. Remember Chelsea from our wedding reception? She has cerebral palsy and it doesn't stop her from doing what she wants to do, she just lives with it and gets on with her life." She paused and looked at him seriously. "Whether you have any form of autism or not, it doesn't define you as a person, and it wouldn't change my love for you in any way."

Her hold on his hand tightened. "So, you are a brilliant man who happens to have Asperger's, or you're a brilliant man who doesn't. Either way, you're still brilliant." Her forehead creased in thought as she continued. "However, I also think you may have been misdiagnosed by your therapist. You've improved a lot recently in regard to social interactions too. I was proud of the way you handled yourself at our wedding reception, and even when we went on the Eye and had dinner with four other people." She bent forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

He smiled at her. "Perhaps I should find that test online and do it again, just to see whether things have changed."

Molly tugged her hand out from his so she could tweak one of his wayward forehead curls. "You _could_ do that. Of course, the results might still be the same. You've conditioned yourself for many years to be one way as a result of what happened in your childhood, so I have a feeling it would be difficult to know for sure one way or another. I guess my biggest clue that your behaviour stems from trauma rather than a pre-existing neurological condition, is because you don't think you had signs of autism at an early age."

Sherlock looked at her thoughtfully. "I suppose I could ask Mycroft about that. He doesn't have gaps in his memory the way I do."

He spoke matter-of-factly, but Molly could not help feeling sad once again that Sherlock had lost such a lot of his early childhood memories. But then again, she didn't have a lot of them either, just flashes of important events. But Sherlock didn't even have that - no birthdays to remember, no fun times with his family, no memories of his sister either.

After these thoughts crossed her mind, she thought about what Sherlock had said about Mycroft and responded. "I think that's a very good idea." For now, there was no point in debating things, not that it really made a difference to her anyway. Whether Sherlock had Asperger's or not, it wouldn't change the love she had for him.

Sherlock pulled her to himself and kissed her sweetly, then said, "I suppose we really ought to get up now and go downstairs for breakfast."

"I guess you're right, " she responded. Somewhat reluctantly, they rose from the comfortable bed and dressed.

With linked hands they went downstairs to breakfast to find Kara in her usual spot at the small reception desk.

"Had a bit of a sleep in this morning, did you?" she said with a rather knowing smile, and Molly wondered if she and Sherlock had been a little _enthusiastic_ earlier in their lovemaking. She blushed, but then thought, _It is our honeymoon after all, so we have nothing to be ashamed of._

Sherlock's hand tightened on Molly's, as if he knew what she was thinking, and he smiled at the other woman. I hope it is not too late for breakfast?"

"Oh, of course not. It's only just gone nine o'clock." Kara smiled at the pair of them.

After breakfast, Sherlock requested a picnic hamper for them again for Friday, which Kara assured them would not be a problem, and Sherlock and Molly returned upstairs to make plans for the day.

As soon as they reached their bedroom, Molly decided the first thing she should do was to brush and braid her hair. She picked up the brush from the dressing table, but Sherlock took it from her.

"Let me," he insisted. Molly smiled at him; she wasn't going to complain about the way he was pampering her. She assumed the same position as she had done the previous day when he brushed her hair, with his long legs curling around her in her cross-legged position. When he was finished he asked, "Do you want to keep it down, or put it in a ponytail?"

Molly turned her head and tilted it towards him. "I thought I'd braid it today. Would you like to do it?"

He smiled. "I could certainly use the practice, but I may need your help again for that extra hand."

Molly went to her toiletries bag and pulled out a hairband, then sat on the bed once more. She noticed that Sherlock was improving in his braiding, he was a little more confident and quicker than he had been before, although he still liked her to hold a piece of hair while he concentrated on doing it correctly. This time he angled the braid so it fell over one shoulder at the end.

Once the task was accomplished, Molly ran her fingers lightly over it. She tilted her head upward and sideways and gave him a light kiss, then proclaimed, "it's wonderful, Sherlock. Thank you."

He smiled at her and said, "Well I guess we should take a look at the brochure now and make our plans for the day."

Molly retrieved Sherlock's reading glasses and the brochure they had received from Kara, and then they sat together on the bed, with Sherlock resting his arm around Molly shoulders lightly, the way he usually did when they sat together.

"We could do the houses of Shakespeare tickets," suggested Molly, as they looked at the brochure. "If we do that today, it can be a Shakespeare day, seeing as we are going to the play tonight."

Sherlock had put on his reading glasses, and he bent forward to read the information. "Looks like I can purchase the tickets online, so I can go ahead and do that."

Molly kissed his cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart. This should be a lovely day."

He turned his head to her and smiled. "Any day with you is a lovely one," which prompted a sigh of contentment from Molly. He was _very_ good at saying the right things.

Sherlock purchased the tickets, and within a short time they were heading out of the B&B to check out Shakespeare's birthplace.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** As I said in the initial notes for this chapter, some pretty deep stuff in this one, which means that my authors note will be longer than usual, so please bear with me.

If you read the whole story of _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage,_ you will have seen that a lot of this chapter refers to events that took place within that story. The first chapter of that story was from Molly's POV, so here at last you get to see what Sherlock was thinking when he went to see her after Sherrinford. I hope you liked the glimpse into his mind. I have also been wanting to talk about his touch sensitivity for some time - if you notice in the show, he rarely touches anyone, which is why I think those cheek kisses would have been a big deal for him. What do you think about this? Do you have your own thoughts on it?

If I have readers out there who are familiar with Asperger's, I hope you have found that I presented it in a way that helps people understand it a little better.

Incidentally, you can find the AQ test online. I tried to do it, pretending to be Sherlock with my answers (which was at times tough), and my answers seemed to indicate Asperger's. Ashblood also made me aware of something called BAP, which is the Broad Autism Phenotype, where people may exhibit some of the traits of autism, but they are not severe enough to be considered autistic. So another possibility is that Sherlock has BAP. If you are interested in learning more, do a search for the Broad Autism Phenotype. I really try to show things in my stories that will make readers think as well as be entertained, and this is n interesting subject, and something of which I too was unaware. I'm always open to broadening my horizons!

Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed this chapter as a whole, in particular those meaningful conversations. Oh, and of course, I hope you liked the more playful Star Trek related conversation. The old Sherlock had a lot in common with Data, in my opinion, don't you agree?


	11. A Day of Shakespeare

Sherlock and Molly arrived at the first place they wished to visit, Shakespeare's Birthplace. They entered the old house and Molly's attention was immediately drawn by a poster-sized article on the wall entitled _Shakespeare in Stratford,_ that talked about his life.

Sherlock was amused by the enthusiastic way she read the whole thing. "Wow, I didn't know he was married at the age of eighteen to a twenty-six-year-old woman, and that she was already pregnant at the time – how scandalous!" she commented, wide-eyed. He himself had not bothered to read the article. To be perfectly honest, he was not particularly interested in this type of thing, but he knew it was something that interested Molly, and he was happy to indulge her in anything she wanted.

He tried to muster up some enthusiasm for her sake. "Er, yes, that is _very_ interesting."

She slipped her hand into his and gave him a sly look. "He and his wife also had twins."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Twins. More power to him. I do not envy the poor man."

She glanced back at the article. "Another interesting thing is that his wife's name was Anne Hathaway."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "What's so interesting about that?"

"Haven't you heard of Anne Hathaway, the actress from the Princess Diaries films? She also played Fantine in Les Misérables," she explained, looking as if he must have lived on the moon if he was not familiar with the actress.

He flushed slightly, before saying, "Do you really see me as the type to watch some film about princesses? As for Les Misérables, I eschewed the opportunity to see it live with my parents a few years ago." He still recalled that day. It was the day he had met Molly's ex fiancé, but there was no point in telling her that. The last thing he wanted to do was bring the ghost of Tom into their honeymoon. He continued, "So seeing a film about it is even less likely." He folded his arms defensively. "So if there is indeed an actress with that name, perhaps she uses it as a stage name and it is not her actual name," he suggested, trying to appear as if he really cared one way or another.

Molly drew her brows together momentarily, then removed her hand from his to pull out her phone. "Well, now you have me wondering about that."

Sherlock pulled her back against the wall so that they would not impede the progress of all the tourists, as Molly went to a website that listed actors and the shows or films they had appeared in. She did a search for the actress and then pronounced, "Well, that's her real name."

He smiled indulgently at her. "Now that you've satisfied your curiosity on that, should we move on?" he asked, placing a hand at her waist and ushering her forward so they could re-join the people walking around the house.

There were stationary guides in several parts of the house who explained little bits of Shakespeare's history. They went through the parlour, the dining hall, and lJohn Shakespeare's workshop. Sherlock found it mildly interesting, but Molly seemed to be enjoying herself very much.

In the bedroom where Shakespeare had slept, the female guide explained that Shakespeare had been the third of eight children, but that the first two had died in infancy. He and his five siblings had all lived in the house with his parents. The woman also explained that in the year of his birth only two out of five children survived to their first birthday. Sherlock could see Molly's eyes cloud at this and her expression changed to one of sorrow. It was one of the things he loved about her, that she had such strong empathy for others.

He took her hand and squeezed it lightly. "That was a long time ago, sweetheart."

Molly sighed and rested her head briefly against his shoulder. "I know, it just makes me sad to think about how many people lost their children. It's hard enough when I have to deal with doing a post-mortem on a child and have to think about what the parents are going through."

As they continued to walk through the house, Sherlock begin to feel uncomfortable. The constant presence of the crowd, smells of body odour and perfumes and other unidentifiable food smells made his nostrils flare. The constant chatter of foreign languages, some of which he understood, also pressed in on him, and his mind palace automatically began to turn over the information his eyes were seeing to determine nationalities and various things about the people around him. This was why he hated using the Tube. Too many people in close proximity and his mind wouldn't shut off. His hand tightened convulsively on Molly's.

She looked at him with concern and a flash of understanding entered her eyes. "Let's go outside," she suggested, and pulled him along to the nearest exit.

He breathed a sigh of relief once they were back out in the open air. There were some benches along the path that led into the house, and Molly led him to one of them. He sank down gratefully and put his face in his hands. He was still trying to force himself not to go into buffering mode, that automatic defence mechanism that kicked in when things got too overwhelming.

She sat beside him and slipped an arm around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock," she said quietly. "I didn't realize how difficult it must be for you to be among so many people at once."

He raised his head and looked at her. "It's not usually this bad, but all the foreign languages were swirling around me and it was damned hot in there as well."

"I'm sorry," she said again and he bent to kiss her forehead reassuringly. "It's not your fault, Molly. I can deal with reporters and that kind of thing, but it was just being in that place with so many people in a confined space." He paused and looked at her questioningly. "I'm surprised you didn't feel claustrophobic, considering the way you reacted when we were in that haunted lift at Bart's a few weeks ago."

She gave a small smile. "I guess because we were constantly moving, and because there was so much for me to see, I didn't have time to think about that."

They sat silently for a little while, as Sherlock composed himself, feeling his agitation subside at last. Fortunately, they seemed to have been through most, if not all of the house.

Finally Sherlock stood. Attempting to put a cheerful note in his voice, he said, "I'm fine now. Should we move on to the next location?"

Molly pursed her lips as she also stood. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Sherlock. What if you have trouble again?"

He shrugged. "Why don't we just go to one more and we'll see how things go. Maybe the next place won't be so crowded."

She slid her gaze over him, then agreed. "Alright then. How about Anne Hathaway's cottage? It has an orchard and we could walk outside there."

"Sounds good." He took her hand and they walked back to the car, then he drove to the cottage.

Fortunately, it wasn't too crowded, and they inspected the cottage briefly.

"I much prefer the plain walls here to those lurid wallpapered ones that were in Shakespeare's house," Molly commented as they walked around, and Sherlock had to agree. The wallpaper in each room there had indeed been rather garish and mismatched as well.

They peeped into the children's activity tent, where several children were inside enjoying various activities, like finding plastic creatures in a sandpit, making figures with modeling clay, or decorating a mask. "Perhaps we should consider coming back here when we have children, so they can play here," Sherlock told Molly, who looked as if she wanted to participate in the activities.

She beamed at him, taking his hand and entwining their fingers. "That would be wonderful."

They returned outside and walked around the gardens and the orchard. There were many trees laden with ripe apples, and Sherlock picked one for himself and Molly. Tourists were permitted to eat them.

They sat on a bench in the orchard together, enjoying the delicious fresh apples as well as the sunshine that shone about them. After the apples were finished, Sherlock went off in search of a rubbish bin, and threw away the apple cores. As he walked back to Molly, a sudden rain shower began. The sun had gone behind a cloud temporarily, and the rain was very light and actually somewhat refreshing. He plopped himself back onto the bench next to Molly.

"Time for an experiment," he murmured to her, taking her in his arms. They were the only ones in the orchard, so he wasted no time in putting his lips to hers and giving her several long, lingering kisses, as they sat on the bench being dusted with the water droplets. The combination of the light, cool rain and Molly's warm lips was rather intoxicating, he reflected, as his hand caressed her face gently and hers came to encircle his neck.

When their lips parted, she asked, a little breathlessly, "What was the purpose of your experiment this time? The taste of the apples?"

He chuckled and took Molly's hand from around his neck turning it palm upwards to the rain. "We've never kissed in the rain before, I thought it was past time we tried something new."

Molly giggled and rested her head against his shoulder. "It was definitely enjoyable."

Soon afterwards, they decided to visit one more of the places they had access to with their tickets. The choices were Mary Arden's Farm, (Mary Arden was Shakespeare's mother), Shakespeare's New Place and Hall's Croft.

They mutually decided to try the farm, because of the opportunity to see animals.

Sherlock found the place quite interesting. There were geese and the opportunity to herd them. Molly enjoyed this thoroughly, while he looked on, amused at her waving around her stick.

A tour guide told them that the original place thought to be Mary Arden's farm had been discovered in 2000 to not be the correct place, as it dated from a slightly later time. Sherlock had to roll his eyes at that. Just as well the error hadn't been a life or death one although it had caused considerable embarrassment for the Trust. It turned out that a farm which had been named Glebe Farm that was right next to the perceived Arden farm, turned out to be the actual Arden homestead.

They had the opportunity to watch some dressed up farm workers eat a Tudor style meal and explain a little about the Tudor way of life. Apparently, the old saying of not putting your elbows on the table because it was bad manners, came from the fact that Tudor tables were actually boards set atop trestles. Therefore, putting your elbows on it could tip the board.

Molly looked at Sherlock. "We're getting quite a history lesson here," she whispered, leaning in close to him as they watched the workers eat.

"Yes, but now I'm getting hungry," he grumbled beneath his breath, and she giggled.

They were able to see various animals on the farm, horses, sheep, pigs, chicks and cows.

Sherlock groaned when he saw the latter. He was not fond of cows, big lumbering animals that they were. "I thought we had seen the last of those when we were up in North Yorkshire a few weeks ago," he muttered and Molly poked him.

"I don't understand what your problem is with these sweet, docile animals. They have such lovely long lashes," she enthused, tucking an arm into his.

"I may have thought a cow was chasing me on a school excursion once," he mumbled, embarrassed at the admission.

She raised an eyebrow at him, "What was that? I didn't quite hear you."

He huffed and raised his voice slightly. "I may have thought a cow was chasing me during a school excursion. It was on the other side of the fence, but it kept following me." He folded his arms crossly when Molly released her hold on him and hooted with laughter.

"You thought-" she gasped, between giggles, "that a cow on the opposite side of the fence was _chasing_ you?"

He frowned. "Don't make fun of me, Molly. I was barely a teenager." He was even more annoyed when she laughed even harder.

"Oh - my - gosh," she spluttered. "You were – a _teenager_ , not just a little kid?" She was laughing so hard that tears were coming from her eyes.

He turned away from her then in acute embarrassment and annoyance. He had tried to be honest with her about his fear of cows, and she had made _fun_ of him. It was not a pleasant feeling. He scowled into the distance and said through clenched teeth, "You forget, Molly, I don't have many memories from my early childhood." That shut her up immediately.

He felt her arms coming around him then from behind. "I'm so sorry Sherlock. I shouldn't have teased you. It's just such a strange thing, you being afraid of cows, when you are so brave in the face of life-threatening situations." Her voice trailed off and he felt her arms squeezing his waist, and he relaxed his stiffened posture, turning back to her.

Her face was pleading with him now, and she was biting her lip in consternation. The tears coming to her eyes now were no longer those of laughter, but of sadness. "Forgive me for being so insensitive, please," she whispered.

Sherlock looked around quickly and made sure that nobody was near them. Then he raised his hands to clasp her face and smooth away the tears as he said, "It's all right, sweetheart, don't cry. I forgive you, but there's nothing really for me to forgive. My fear of cows really is quite ridiculous." His lips tilted upwards.

Her lips trembled as she responded, "No, Sherlock. I was in the wrong. You didn't make fun of me when I had that claustrophobia attack, instead, you comforted me when you found out how I was feeling. It's never right to make fun of somebody fearing something." She looked down then and said, "I never told you why I was claustrophobic, did I?"

He bent forward and kissed her forehead. "I'm listening," he told her gently, and she looked back up at him.

"I was pretty young. I was at a birthday party at a friend's place, and we were playing hide and seek. There were quite a few of us at the party. Anyway, I was looking for a place to hide, and I found a cupboard with just a few cleaning supplies in it. I managed to climb inside and pull the cupboard door shut. I waited in there for ages, and then I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up it was dark and I didn't know where I was for a moment, and I was terrified. It took me a minute to remember where I was, and then I managed to get the door open and climb out." She paused, obviously reliving the memories. Sherlock patiently waited for her to continue.

"There was nobody inside the house and I found out that they had all gone outside to the back garden to cut the cake and sing happy birthday, and nobody had noticed I wasn't there." Her eyes blurred with tears again. "The worst part is, they didn't even care about what I'd gone through. They brushed it off and just said it must have been a good hiding place." She sniffled.

Sherlock remembered seeing some wooden seats, and he led Molly to them. They were very few people around now, and he realised it was probably almost time for their visit to end. He glanced at his watch. The farm closed at five which meant they only had ten minutes left.

They sat and he put his arms around her and allowed her to cry against his shoulder. Children could be cruel sometimes, but apparently some adults could be too, if they had not noticed the little girl who had been traumatised by what had happened.

He stroked her back gently, until her tears ceased. "I'm sorry for what you went through, sweetheart," he murmured. He lifted her face and kissed her tenderly. He would have liked to do more, but he knew there was no time now. "We have to leave now, visiting hours are over," he told her, stroking her hair. "Let's go back to the B&B and get changed, then we'll head out for a quick meal before the theatre, okay?"

She gave him a wobbly smile. "Okay."

Then, hand-in-hand they left the farm to return to the B&B.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Another chapter full of goodies for my readers who have read Journey. I do like to tie things to that story, like the coffin lift thing, and the cows in North Yorkshire.

I used YouTube to look at videos so I could describe their destinations accurately, and researched to make sure my facts were correct (like being permitted to eat the apples). I hope you enjoyed the little history lesson about Shakespeare. I found it all rather fascinating myself. This also afforded me the opportunity to address why Sherlock always uses a taxi. Can you imagine how difficult it would have been for him to deal with so much information at once? I imagine it would have been overwhelming.

I haven't shown Sherlock and Molly get to kiss in the rain before, so I thought this was the perfect opportunity.

At the farm, the geese herding thing also comes from watching a YouTube video. I love usingYouTube to lend credibility to my stories! What did you think of Sherlock's fear of cows? Honestly, I had to have Molly laugh at it, to show she can be insensitive at times. She is human too, not perfect, but she was truly sorry afterwards. And finally you get to see the cause of her claustrophobia, which was something Sherlock discovered during the coffin lift chapter of Journey.

So I really packed this chapter full of interesting tid-bits, which I hope you enjoyed. I'd be very pleased to hear from my readers with what you thought about the various meaningful conversations, and the sight-seeing.


	12. A Night of Shakespeare

**Author's note:** my mum just arrived yesterday from Australia, so publishing may be a little more sporadic until after Christmas while she is here. She told me last night that she had the opportunity to go on the Eye during a cruise a couple years ago to Europe and England. Lucky her!

* * *

As soon as Sherlock and Molly arrived back at the B&B, they headed up to their room. Molly went immediately to the bathroom to use the loo and wash her face, scrubbing away the tear stains. Crying had certainly not been on the agenda today, but it had been strangely cathartic. Sharing the reason for her claustrophobia, something she had kept to herself for most of her life, had helped to cleanse a wound that had festered for so many years. She had never even told her mother what had happened that day, because she had been so embarrassed. She had also refused to go back to that girl's place again when invited. When her mother had asked the reason why, Molly had just said she didn't want to be friends anymore, and her mother had not pressed the matter.

Molly also felt guilty about laughing over Sherlock's fear of cows. It had seemed so funny, and she had not stopped to think about how insensitive she was being by laughing, until he had turned away from her. She realised they were still learning things about each other, would be doing so for the rest of their lives. There were so many facets to Sherlock she still didn't know, and things she had not shared with him, and she looked forward to doing so.

Molly exited the bathroom so that Sherlock could take his turn, while she extracted the only dress from their suitcase, which she had brought on the off-chance that they would be going out somewhere nice. She unrolled it, and found that fortunately, it was not too creased. It was a dress she had purchased months earlier but had not had the opportunity to wear, sleeveless with a white background and floral print. She was just slipping it on, when Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, smelling of his aftershave and showing a smooth chin once more.

As she struggled to reach the zipper, Sherlock came up behind her. "Allow me," he murmured, sliding her braid out of the way and kissing her neck, before pulling up the zipper. She was facing the mirror on the dressing table and looked at his reflection.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart," he said putting his hands on her shoulders. He had stripped down to his boxers and was not yet dressed. She turned to him and trailed her fingers lightly down his chest. "Thank you. Don't you think you need to put a few more clothes on if we are going to go out for dinner and see the play?"

He gave her a hooded gaze. "Right at this moment, I wish we were not going out anywhere." His eyes travelled a path down her body and she caught her breath. She would have rather liked to stay here herself, but they had plans for the evening. She smiled and stepped away from him deliberately and returned to face the dressing table, searching for the earrings he had given her to wear on their wedding day. Then she remembered that she had put them in her handbag, and walked over to retrieve them. As she put on the airings, she watched Sherlock from the corner of her eye. He only had one pair of regular trousers with him, and he put those on, along with Molly's favourite aubergine shirt, which he had also obviously packed for her benefit.

Once they were both ready they headed out to find a place to eat. Unfortunately, they found that most of the cafés had already closed at five.

"Why don't you check your phone for a fish and chip place?" suggested Sherlock as he drove slowly along a street, peering at "closed" signs.

"Good idea," answered Molly, taking her phone from her handbag and doing a search. "This one sounds promising," she said, giving him the address of a

takeaway place called Tiffin. "It's only a seven minute drive from there to the theatre as well," she commented, after doing a quick search for directions.

Sherlock glanced at her and smiled. "Good work, now if you can just give me the directions from here?"

Molly did so, and they soon reached their destination. Sherlock would have been content to just order chips, Molly knew, but she persuaded him to try the doner kebab which also came with chips. They ate quickly, knowing they needed to get to the theatre. It was past six-thirty and the doors would have already been opened.

By the time they arrived at The Royal Shakespeare Theatre it was already six forty-five. As they hurried in, Sherlock remarked, "I guess we could have eaten here, there's a restaurant."

Molly giggled. "It would have most likely taken longer to eat in a restaurant anyway, so it's probably just as well we didn't try that."

They found their seats and sat, ready to watch the play. As soon as the lights dimmed, Sherlock settled his arm around Molly's shoulders and she sighed with pleasure. She would never get tired of feeling his arm around her.

She was soon absorbed in the play, in the magic of it. Every now and then she cast a glance at Sherlock, who looked just a little bored.

During the intermission they both got up, Sherlock to stretch his legs, and Molly to use the loo. As they walked out, she looked at his impassive face and asked, "Are you - _bored_?"

"No, no," he assured her hastily, not quite meeting her eyes. She would have questioned him further, but she spied the ladies toilets.

"I'll be right back," she told him, heading into the loo.

When she returned a few minutes later, Sherlock was languidly leaning against a wall, waiting for her.

She walked up to him and took his hand. "So, tell me why you're bored." She kept her tone matter-of-fact, so he would know she was not cross about it, merely curious.

He looked down at her and sighed a little. "You may think me ridiculous, but I find it difficult to understand all that old English. Here I am, able to speak in several foreign languages, but the beauty of old English escapes me."

Molly giggled and squeezed his hand. "I understand. I studied _Romeo and Juliet_ at school, so I know what is going on pretty well. If I hadn't though, I'd probably be as lost as you." She raised herself on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Let's go back inside and I'll explain the plot to you a little better before the second half starts."

They headed back to their seats. The people on either side of them had apparently gone out either to use the loo as well, or to get refreshments.

Sherlock obviously noticed as well, because he leaned to whisper in Molly's ear, "May I steal one kiss from my beautiful wife?"

She turned to him with no hesitation, and he gave her a kiss that was probably a little longer than propriety dictated, considering the public venue, but their seating companions had still not returned and she didn't really care. When he drew back from her after the kiss, his arm came around her again and she rested her head against his shoulder, then proceeded to outline the plot of the play for him.

As they watched the second half, Molly noticed that Sherlock seemed more attentive to the play, now that he knew what was happening. She was pleased that she had thought to explain the story for him.

As they exited the theatre with the crowd at the end, she looked up at him. He had immediately taken her hand as they walked out, and she felt him squeeze it before he said, "Thank you for explaining the play to me. I enjoyed the second half a lot better, even if it did not have a happy ending."

She gave him a wry smile. "Well, that _was_ one of Shakespeare's tragedies. He does have some comedies as well though. Didn't you study at least one of his plays in school?"

He pondered for a moment. "Actually, yes. We studied _Henry the Fifth_. I even had to learn the 'Once more unto the breach' speech and recite it from memory. Reciting it wasn't difficult for me, but knowing what the hell I was talking about with all those obscure, no-longer-used words was another matter entirely." His lips twitched into a half smile. "Of course, that speech is what led to me using my favourite phrase, an updated version of 'the game is afoot.'"

Molly grinned at him. "Oh yes, you love to say, 'the game is on' when you are excited about a case. I bet you sounded wonderful when you recited that speech. One day you're going to have to do it just for me."

He slid a glance toward her, even as he took her hand in his. "Perhaps. I must admit, I do enjoy reading things aloud, and trying to put expression in my voice, but to be honest, English as a subject held less interest for me because I was always immersed in science and mathematics, and of course foreign language. English literature for the most part did not appeal to me – well, except for _A Tale of Two Cities_. Reading about the French Revolution was rather interesting, and the idea of one man sacrificing his life for another was quite astounding."

They had reached the car and Sherlock opened Molly's door for her before going to the driver's side and getting in.

As he drove, Molly continued their conversation. "It's interesting that you bring up _A Tale of Two Cities_. The end of that book moved me to tears. But I'm glad they had the little epilogue that showed that his sacrifice was not in vain." She looked over at Sherlock. You remind me of Sydney Carton in a way, in the way you were willing to sacrifice yourself for your friends as well before you jumped off the roof of the hospital."

He slid a glance at her then returned his focus on driving as he remarked, "Hardly the same thing. I wasn't going to the guillotine and certain death in place of another man."

Molly slid her hand into his where it rested casually between them as he drove confidently with one hand. "You may not have actually sacrificed yourself, but you knew the danger, and you _could_ have died. I know that better than anyone."

He glanced at her again and squeezed her hand. "Without your aid, my chances of survival would have been significantly less. Don't forget that you were the one who came up with the idea for _Operation Lazarus_ , which was the one we ended up going with."

"I'm just glad that I was able to make a difference, and that God placed me there for a reason."

Sherlock took his hand from Molly and turned the wheel into the parking lot of the B&B before speaking again. "God did so much for me before I even knew Him, and I will always be thankful that He was watching out for me, and most of the time that was through you." He stopped the car and turned off the ignition, then turned to look towards Molly fully. "Your presence in my life has made such a difference. I don't know where I'd be without you."

She saw the intense look in his eyes. "I don't know where I'd be without you either, my love."

He smiled at her then. "Let me get your door for you," he offered, before exiting the vehicle himself. Molly smiled and waited for him to open her car door. He was such a perfect gentleman. He opened the door and she got out, then they walked inside and up to their room.

Molly stretched and yawned as they entered the room. It had been a long day.

"Why don't I draw us a bath," Sherlock suggested, "and then we can go to bed." The look he gave her made it clear that he was not talking about going to sleep immediately.

She smiled at him dreamily. "Sounds nice."

He headed into the bathroom and she plopped herself on the bed after kicking off her shoes. She'd just lay there for a few minutes while she waited. She heard the sound of the taps being turned on and nothing else until she felt a pair of warm, sensual lips covering her own and she opened her eyes.

Sherlock was bending over her and she could see immediately that he was completely naked and ready for the bath. He caressed her cheek, then tucked a stray strand of hair that had come out from her braid behind her ear. "You fell asleep on me." There was no censure in his tone, merely amusement. "Do you want to just go to sleep?"

Molly immediately sat up. "No, of course not!" she exclaimed. "I was just resting my eyes for a minute."

"Or ten." He smirked at her and she scrambled off the bed.

"Well you _could_ help me out of my dress so we can have that bath," she suggested, turning her back towards him and pulling her braid to the side.

She felt Sherlock kiss her neck again, as he had done before zipping her up earlier. He unzipped the dress and she stepped out of it. She took care of her bra and knickers as Sherlock turned down the bedcovers, and then she let out a little shriek of delight as he picked her up in his arms and strode to the bathroom, depositing her gently in the tub amongst the bubbles. She was surprised to see he had used her vanilla and patchouli body wash to make the bubbles.

She turned as he slid in behind her, resting his long legs on either side of her as they had been on their wedding night. "I'm surprised you used my body wash. Aren't you worried about getting that smell on yourself?"

He picked up a flannel from the side of the tub and began to wash her body before responding. "I thought we have a day in tomorrow, so there will be no one to smell me except you, and I know you like your bubbles."

She gave a contented sigh and relaxed against him, thoroughly enjoying the gentle way he washed her body, until of course he reached those deathly ticklish armpits again and she took the flannel away from him to do them herself, because he was making her laugh too hard with his delicate touch. The process was a little simpler this time, because she didn't need to wash her hair and the braid kept it out of the way.

Then it was her turn to concentrate on cleansing his body, as she turned and rose to her knees to make sure she covered every part properly. His hair didn't need to be washed either this time. By the time she was finished, she knew exactly what Sherlock's intentions were a soon as they exited the tub.

He pulled the plug and helped her out of the bath, obviously remembering her almost fall of the day before. They dried their bodies hastily then dropped the towels onto the floor and Molly giggled as Sherlock picked her up in his arms again to carry her to the bed.

"You have a thing about carrying me, don't you?" she commented, peering up at him and grinning.

His hold tightened slightly. "Guilty as charged. I like having your body close to mine that way." Then he quipped, "Anyway, you are ridiculously easy to carry, so either you are very light, or I have the strength of Data and am more like the android than I thought."

He laid her gently upon the bed, and she looked up at him. "Actually, I think you are less like Data and more like Spock - or at least you _were_ like Spock."

He laid himself on the bed beside her, then raised an eyebrow, "Go on."

"You do know who I'm talking about don't you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that. "Pointy-eared Vulcan, talks like an android. Doesn't express his emotions." She saw comprehension dawn on his face. "Ohhhh," he said slowly. "He always suppresses any form of emotion in favour of pure, logical thinking."

"Yup," agreed Molly, stroking his cheek, "sounds like somebody I used to know." Then she added, "You were more like the classic Spock, though. In the re-boot films, he is in a relationship with Uhura."

Sherlock drew his brows together. "I must admit, I have not seen the most recent incarnation of Star Trek."

Molly grinned. "Oh, you should definitely see the films. We'll have to buy them on Blu-ray. There's a guy in the second film who plays Kirk's nemesis, Khan, who I swear is a doppelgänger for you, if you pulled your hair back and wore it shorter. He even has the same eyes as you."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Enough of this conversation about other men. It's time to concentrate on us." And with that conversation decidedly ended, his fingers tugged at the elastic band keeping Molly's braid in place. "I want to see your hair loose," he told her, removing the band then using his fingers to separate the strands of the braid.

She loved the feeling of his hands in her hair, and he threaded his fingers through the waves created by the braid afterwards, as he held and kissed her. Her own hands came around his neck to tangle in his curls, luxuriating in the feel of them.

For several minutes they just kissed, savouring each other, allowing the flames to build between them as kisses became more demanding, more ardent. Then their hands and mouths moved to more sensitive areas, teasing and thrilling their senses, as they delighted in one another.

And when those kisses and touches were no longer enough, they joined as one, feeling the ultimate joy of their union, riding and cresting those waves of passion together, before returning to earth.

Sherlock reached down to pull the sheet and duvet up over them and then tucked her body into his in the spooning fashion they had adopted during their engagement. He swept her hair aside to brush one last kiss against her shoulder, then settled his arm over her, and they slept, feeling the deep contentment of their close contact.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** Ah, Romeo and Juliet. I must confess, I have never read the play myself, although I have sung in the opera version of it. Are you a Shakespeare fan? Have you read any of his plays? I thought it would be fun to show Sherlock a little out of his depth when it came to understanding the play. I find it hard to understand Shakespeare's English myself. I had to say he studied Henry V in school though - that is what he is quoting the speech from during TLD. It wasn't until I read the entire speech online, that I realized it contains the term "the game is afoot." How clever of the writers to use it, don't you think?

I have to give credit to my readers Scifibookworm and Ashblood for their comments about Sherlock being more like Spock than Data, which led to me inserting that conversation between Sherlock and Molly. Having done that, I couldn't resist the opportunity to mention Khan, which of course is the role Benedict Cumberbatch played in Star Trek: Into Darkness. I love incorporating the thoughts of readers when I can do so in a way that makes sense, so hopefully I achieved that here.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter.


	13. Tears and Tickling

**Author's note:** Many hanks to those of you who support me regularly with your encouraging reviews. With that in mind, I have decided that when I get to the final chapter of a long story, I will add an acknowledgements list (just like authors of published books do). This list will contain the names of those who have faithfully reviewed most, or all of the chapters. It will be my way of showing my appreciation. Each review I receive from someone is a highlight to my day and provides me with more motivation to continue my efforts. I will always believe fan fiction shouod be an interactive experience between author and reader, rather than just a library.

Also, sorry for the late update. Black Friday shopping led to a headache, then severe migraine afterwards yesterday so it kept me away from my iPad.

* * *

After Sherlock woke, he remained motionless for some time, not wishing to wake Molly, who was still tucked against him. The previous day had been an interesting one, with the sightseeing and also discovering new things about each other.

He recalled Molly's reaction from when they had been on the "coffin lift" at the hospital, and the lights had gone out. He still felt guilty about making her ride the lift, even more so now that he understood the reason for her claustrophobia. That was certainly a mistake he would not make again.

He thought also about the way he had opened up to Molly about his struggle when it came to physical touch interactions. Even in his darkest days, when he had been Mycroft's despair as he dabbled further into drugs, he had still avoided physical contact with anyone. He had preferred the isolation and the escape the drugs provided from his overactive brain. In a way, he could understand his sister's torment - being constantly exposed to other people, having a need to deduce _everything_ about them without even being aware of it. By using observation, he was able to find out things without getting too close to people.

More and more, he was beginning to understand things about himself that he'd never thought to question. What was it about Molly that made her different from everyone else? Why _had_ she been able to see him when he was unable to even see himself?

He pondered the question for awhile and suddenly a revelation came to him, one he felt that he had to tell her. He removed his hand from where it had been covering her, and instead begin to move it along her side and her hip, as he kissed her neck. Not surprisingly, the touch was enough to wake her.

She stirred sleepily and shifted her position onto her back, then looked at him with a smile on her lips. "Good morning. Is this an attempt at early morning seduction?"

He grinned at her. "Perhaps in a little while, but there's something I've been thinking about, and I just had to share it with you."

She looked at him inquiringly. "What has your brain so active this early?" She shifted her body again so that she was facing him, and her head was resting on his shoulder.

He took her hand, and threaded his fingers through it. "I was just thinking about yesterday, and about how we have been sharing things from our past, learning more about each other." He stopped and tried to think of the best way to explain the thought that had occurred to him.

He expelled a breath then went on. "I was wondering what made you so different from everyone else, and I suddenly realized what it was. I already knew that you could see the real me, because you looked beneath the surface, unlike most people. But it's more than that. I just realised that for years people have put me on a pedestal, looked up to me. Greg, John, Mrs. Hudson, at different times they have been in awe of me and my skills as a detective. But you've never acted that way with me. You have loved me _despite_ my flaws, flaws that you could see. You were never afraid to call me out on something when it was something you were upset about."

Molly's hand tightened in his, fingers pressing against the back of his hand. "To be honest, in the very beginning I _did_ put you on a pedestal, when I just had a crush on you, and I wasn't able to talk with you properly. But as I got to know you when we would work together at the hospital, I could tell there was so much more to you than your keen observation skills and your brilliant mind. I wanted to know what lay beneath the surface, and I wanted you to know that you could come to me if you ever wanted to talk, to open up about things."

He bent slightly to kiss her forehead. "That's the point I'm trying to make. Nobody else tried to understand _me_ , the person. I think they were too intimidated by the _persona_ of Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, and I think that is why they let me get away with being such an arrogant arse. People would just consider me eccentric in that way. But you - you called me out on those insensitive comments at the Christmas party, and you also demanded that I apologise for betraying my friends and throwing away my gifts, on the day John made me get that drug test."

She looked at him seriously. "I was so frightened for you, but even more so during the Culverton Smith case when you were really destroying your body. I've seen enough drug related deaths, wastes of young lives, and I didn't want you to become a statistic. I felt God telling me to be there for you, and I believed that He had great plans for you, although I didn't know how that would play out. I just kept praying for you."

He released Molly's hand so that he could pull her closer. "You _were_ there for me, and that brings to mind a song I listened to a few weeks ago."

"Oh?" she questioned, lifting her face to his, and he could see the enticing curve of her lips, distracting him. He looked longingly at them, wanting to kiss her, yet needing to explain one more thing, so he forced himself to focus on what he wanted to say.

"You know the song from our wedding, _The Prayer_?" At Molly's nod of assent, he continued. "I thought I'd listen to it on that day I was writing out all those last-minute things I had to remember for the wedding. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember the title, just the name Celine Dion. So I did a search on YouTube using her name. At first I saw a song I thought might be the right one, because it had the word love in it, but I soon realised it wasn't the right one although I did remember the correct one later, when I recalled it was a duet."

Her hand came up to gently tug at a curl. "What song was it?"

"It was _Because You Loved Me_." He took a moment to caress her face with his hand. "The point I am trying to make is that I feel that song really personifies our journey, and what you mean to me." He closed his eyes, trying to remember the lyrics that had stuck out to him. Yes, that was it.

His fingers grazed her earlobe, and the earring she had not taken off the previous evening as he said, " _My world is a better place, because of you_." With those words, he closed the distance that separated them and kissed her, finally allowing himself to luxuriate in the sweetness that was his wife. As usual, the taste of her lips and the feel of her body against his enthralled him. Molly was the most precious gift he had ever received; she loved him so unreservedly, and she was so incredibly responsive to every touch, every caress.

They sought the ultimate fulfillment, and found it together, feeling the joy of the spiritual as well as physical bond between them. They basked in the afterglow of their shared intimacy, and Sherlock stroked Molly's hair lovingly. "How would you feel about us just staying here today? I feel like we had such a full day yesterday, and I'd rather spend today without the distraction of other people."

She nodded. "I have no objections to that. You mentioned that last night already," she pointed out, before adding with an impish smile, "Besides, I need to win the next game of Monopoly."

He chuckled. "And I need to win a game of chess against you."

They lay together, bodies still touching, hands entwined, until it was time to get up for breakfast.

After their breakfast, they began their morning of fun, starting with a game of Monopoly. On this occasion Molly had the prized Mayfair, while Sherlock had Park Lane. He held Oxford Street and Bond Street, while Molly had Regent Street. This time they decided to do a straight trade so that they would each have a monopoly.

They also did straight trade so that Sherlock would have a red monopoly, and Molly a yellow one. Play continued back-and-forth as they built their houses and hotels. In the end, two unfortunate rolls in a row led to Molly losing. She frowned, obviously not happy at having lost both games, and Sherlock looked at her warily.

"You do realise this is just for fun, don't you?" he asked carefully, noticing the pout on her lips.

"It's fine," she responded, not quite meeting his eyes. "I need to go to the loo." She stood up and headed for the bathroom, while Sherlock collected the pieces and put them away. Another game right now was probably not a good idea.

When she returned from the bathroom, she seemed her usual self. "Chess?" he asked raising his eyebrow at her.

Molly shrugged. "Why not?"

They really were quite evenly matched. Molly took a little more time to think over her next move than Sherlock did, but her strategies were sound, and he had to really concentrate on the game to keep up with her. This time she didn't make any attempts at distracting him, and Sherlock won the game, but only narrowly. "Well played, love," he commented, leaning back in the chair and putting his hands behind his head to stretch.

"Again," she demanded, setting up the pieces for them. During the next game a careless error by Molly led to Sherlock finding an opening which led to his victory.

"Good game, sweetheart," he said, reaching out to touch her hand, but she brushed it away with a huff.

She began to put the pieces back on the board once again in the starting positions without a word. Sherlock was a little surprised. _Is Molly a sore loser?_ he wondered again.

He watched her for a minute, then helped to set the last few pieces on the board. It was time to take a break for lunch anyway. "Shall we head downstairs and get something to eat? I noticed that Kara left some scones in a basket and there was butter and jam for them, so presumably we could eat those for lunch, maybe a piece of fruit?" He looked at her warily and she finally met his gaze.

"I guess that's a good idea," she said rather distantly, and they headed downstairs together. They ate quietly. Molly seemed disinclined to talk and Sherlock was content just to look at the face of the woman he loved, even if there was a crease between her brows.

As soon as they returned upstairs, she said, "Let's play one more game of Monopoly."

Sherlock gave her a concerned look. "Are you sure you want to do that?" He really didn't want her to get upset if she lost again.

She gave him a challenging look. "Why? Are you afraid I'll beat you this time?"

"No," he muttered under his breath. "I'm afraid I'll beat _you_." Unfortunately she heard him and stood with her hands on her hips.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asked, a little belligerently.

Sherlock stood in front of her, taking her face between his hands and forcing her to look at him. "Why are you acting this way, love? Why does it matter really who wins or loses, as long as we have fun?"

Suddenly her eyes filled with tears, and she put her arms around his waist. She buried her face in his chest and mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, "Why do you have to be so good at _everything_?"

He rested his chin on top of her head and put his arms around her, rubbing her back. "Molly Hooper – I mean _Holmes_ ," he corrected himself, still finding it strange that she now shared his last name, "I am not good at _everything_. Games that use dice to determine an outcome primarily depend on luck, rather than strategy. I am good at chess - after all, I _had_ to be, in order to compete with Mycroft, but your skill is equal to mine and I am certain you will be the victor probably half the time, if we play without distraction." He stopped speaking and moved his hand to lift her chin upwards. "However, If you would prefer not to play games for fear of losing, I would rather not subject you to the vexation."

She gave him a wobbly smile. "I know I'm being ridiculous, really I do. I honestly don't have a problem with losing usually, perhaps it's my competitive streak coming out, and the fact that I know you are superior to me in so many ways."

He kissed her lips lightly, then regarded her thoughtfully. "I must admit, I rather like the fact that you are not entirely perfect, that you struggle with different things. I myself have so many flaws that your usual equanimity can be quite intimidating."

She stared at him in surprise. "You find _me_ intimidating?"

He took her hand and led her to the bed, so they could sit upon it. "Intimidating? Yes. Terrifying? Absolutely. When you call me out on something I've done that I shouldn't have done, don't I always back down? It's because I know you're right. You've always been my moral compass. That's why I've always trusted you." He grinned at her and added, "I have a feeling that when we have children, you will rule the roost and lay down the law, not me."

She laughed at that and put her hand on his knee. "Probably." Then she reached up to curl her hands around his neck. "So, if we are going to stop playing games for now, do you have any ideas on what else we could do this afternoon?" He allowed himself to be drawn towards her for a very satisfying kiss.

Then he smirked at her. "I _could_ allow you to give me a massage and to have your way with me with the feather and other things this time."

She raised an eyebrow. "Would you like me to use the massage oil?"

"Definitely not, I think your hands on my back will be enough," he responded, raising her hand to his lips and kissing the fingers one by one.

He could see her chest beginning to rise and fall more rapidly, even as his own heartbeat accelerated. "And will…will you wear that thong again?" she questioned, peeping at him from beneath her lashes.

"If I must," he agreed, "but on one condition."

She smirked at him. "I think I know. You want me to wear lingerie as well -am I correct?"

"Mhm," he murmured his agreement. "I think you are currently wearing entirely too many clothes, as indeed am I." He rose from the bed as he spoke and began to undress. As he did so, Molly made her way to the dressing table drawer and withdrew the thong she had put away earlier. She brought it over to him and handed it to him, then returned to the drawer to find something for herself. Sherlock carefully avoided looking at her, wanting to be surprised.

He donned the black thong, noting to his dismay that it was uncomfortably tight. Thoughts of Molly putting on something sexy were already distracting him, making his thoughts drift to the end result of her wearing them. When she did tell him he could look, he swallowed thickly. He had to control the urge to just lift her up and carry her to the bed and forget all the foreplay. But he forced himself to just smile.

She looked ravishing in the black - _what was it called?_ \- edged with lace. It had a halter neck and an extremely plunging neckline that extended all the way to her navel and showed off her belly button. In her hands she held the cuffs and the blindfold. "What do you call that kind of lingerie again?" he managed to ask, through his dry mouth.

She gave him a seductive look that did nothing to assuage the feeling of desire rising within him. "It's a teddy. Now, why don't you lay down on the bed so I can give you that massage," she purred in a sexy voice that had his heart pumping so hard, he had to look away from her.

He climbed onto the bed and lay on his stomach, and waited, turning his head to one side slightly so he could breathe and resting his face on his hands. He felt the dip of the bed as Molly climbed onto it from the other side, and a few moments later he felt her straddling him. Then her hands were on his shoulders, and she begin to massage his shoulders. For such a petite woman, she had remarkably strong hands and fingers, he thought, unable to restrain himself from letting out a slight groan of pleasure at her ministrations.

She moved her fingers from his shoulders to his back, and then suddenly, she stopped. He didn't have time to wonder why though, because he felt the pressure of her lips on several areas, and he understood the reason why. She was kissing each of those scars he had as a result of the beating he had endured shortly before Mycroft had extracted him from Serbia, before his triumphant return to London.

"Your poor back," she murmured, after she finished kissing the many places that still showed the physical evidence of his torture. She began to gently massage his back. "One day you have to tell me the full story of everything you went through while you were gone," she told him.

"I will," he promised. He did want to tell her. He wanted her to know how often he had thought of her during those two years away, and even more so, how he had gone into his mind palace during those torture sessions, and thought about her, and wondered what she was doing. Molly, the woman he had never been able to forget, no matter how hard he tried.

Finally, she stopped massaging. "Turn around," she ordered, moving away from him, and he obeyed, lying flat on his back and gazing upon her beautiful body. He clenched his hands together, to prevent himself from reaching up and pulling her down onto him, kissing her senseless.

He was disappointed when she took the blindfold and placed it over his eyes, and slid the elastic securely behind his head. He didn't like not being able to see her, feast his eyes on her, but he did like the feel of her body straddling his once again, and oh, did it tempt him. A few moments later he felt her taking hold of his wrists, placing a cuff on each and then lifting his hands above his head, before tying the ends together. He was treated to the feel of her body pressing gently against his face as she did the tying. He knew it wouldn't be a problem to break out of the flimsy cuffs if he had to, but this was a game and it was all about exploring new things and having fun.

Then she slid her body back down along his slowly - _on purpose?_ he wondered, and moments later, her lips met his. The sensation of her teasing his mouth open, making delicate forays into it with her tongue was very enticing, and his hands twitched above his head, as he longed once again to hold her.

Her hands came to tangle in his curls as she intensified their kiss, and he could feel his body responding with that familiar ache. He almost groaned with disappointment when she sat up and moved her body against his in a most inviting manner to torment him. The next thing he felt was the feather. He could feel it moving up one arm and then the next and he twitched a little, although he was not particularly sensitive in the arms. When she tickled his armpits he let out a huff of laughter. Definitely more ticklish there. And then Molly started tickling his chest with that feather, making her own little random pattern along it, which was almost unbearable. His chest began to heave as Molly continued the playful torture and he tried not to laugh. His chest was so sensitive, it was almost painful.

She finally stopped teasing his chest, and Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. He felt her body shift as she slid the feather down one leg and tickled his feet. His toes curled at the sensation.

Finally though, the torture was over. She kissed him once again and then he felt her releasing his hands from the cuffs, before removing the blindfold. At that point he lost no time in pulling her onto him, wrapping his arms like bands of steel around her, preventing her escape, not that she seemed to mind him taking control. He kissed her passionately, demandingly, as she responded with enthusiasm, letting out a soft whimper. Then he released his tight hold to rub his hands up and down the length of her back, feeling the satiny fabric of the teddy before sliding his hands between them, to the front. He slid them between the lines of the plunging neck line of her teddy to cup her breasts, and she let out a gasp of pleasure.

It wasn't long before the teddy and thong were dispensed with, and they were able to enjoy one another, skin upon skin, experiencing the joy in uniting their bodies again.

As Sherlock held Molly close to him afterwards, she made a sign of utter contentment, and he marvelled over the fact that he had been so incredibly blessed to find this kind of abiding love. It was always so much more than a physical union, as their souls combined too in a way that had been designed for them from the beginning.

Eventually, their jointly rumbling stomachs alerted them to the fact that it was time for dinner. Rather than go out for dinner, Sherlock and Molly used her iPad to find a pizza place that offered delivery. They selected _Snappy Tomato Pizza,_ which offered a selection of ten inch square pizzas.

"This is obviously an American franchise," commented Molly, pointing at some of the pizza names. "Louisiana, Wild West BBQ, Rocky Mountain High, Pepperoni Prairie," she read out loud.

"For certain, little lady," agreed Sherlock, adopting what was probably an awful southern American accent.

Molly giggled. "If you want to sound American, you'll need to ask Lori for some tutoring."

Sherlock thought about Greg Lestrade's girlfriend. It would be interesting to learn more about America in general from her. In all his travels through Europe and other countries, he had not yet been to America. Even when he had been making sure that Mrs. Hudson's husband paid for his crimes with execution in Florida, he had operated from his London base with a liaison in America. _Perhaps one day Molly and I will be able to visit America together one day_ , he thought.

The pair settled on three medium pizzas, deciding it would be enough to give them dinner for the next night as well. There was a microwave in the kitchen if the B&B, but Sherlock didn't mind cold pizza, and Molly said she was fine with that as well.

After the pizza arrived and they had eaten their fill, the rest of it was put in the larger refrigerator in the kitchen downstairs, because there was no way for a pizza box to fit in the small one in their room. They spent the rest of the evening relaxing. They played another game of chess, which Molly won without needing to distract Sherlock, and he was amused at her delight. Sherlock decided silently to _not_ suggest playing Monopoly again.

They cuddled together on the bed and watched some crap telly, talking romantic nonsense to one another every now and then, like "I love you," "I love you more," the silly sort of things people probably all did on their honeymoon, Sherlock reflected. They touched one another constantly, a stroke of the arm, kisses in multiple places, playing with each other's hair. Sherlock had never felt more content.

Later, they made love again, taking their time, kissing frequently, and finally fell into restful slumber, wrapped in each other's arms.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** So, here we have a little more rather deep conversation in between all the flirtatiousness. What are your thoughts on how Sherlock stated to Molly that she was different than everyone else? Do you agree that she saw him for the man he was, rather than his detective persona? I feel that as the series went on, Molly became more independent and sure of herself. I also think that other characters like John and Greg and even Mrs. Hudson were intimidated by Sherlock's intellect, especially in the early days, and very much in awe of him. As always I'd love to hear the perception of my readers.

This time it was Molly's turn to show Sherlock some attention. I wanted to include that part about the scars on his back, because I think it is important for people to remember them, and that he suffered terribly from the torture he experienced in Serbia.

Oh yeah, and Molly is competitive with Sherlock and a sore loser. You saw hints of that in earlier chapters. Little flaws that humanize her, she needs them to show she isn't perfect. I admit, that idea came from experience. My hubby and I took Monopoly on our honeymoon and he won three games in a row. I confess, I cried about it LOL. Are you competitive? Is being a sore loser one of your own weaknesses? (Mine is only with my hubby though, I have never cared if I lose to anyone else).

Any of my readers familiar with _Snappy Tomato Pizza_? I had not heard of it before.


	14. A Tussle over Crisps

Molly opened her eyes to the soft sound of Sherlock snoring, just a teeny bit. He had flipped onto his back during the night, although his arm was still beneath her neck, and she moved her body so that she could see him properly. Not surprisingly his mouth was slightly open. Molly remembered her mum complaining about her dad when she was a little girl. Mrs. Hooper would always say the only time he snored was when he was on his back, because his mouth was open and his tongue was obstructing his airway.

Molly lifted a hand to place it lightly on Sherlock's chest, feeling the steady thump, thump, of his heart. She tried to remember what day it was. She hadn't really been paying close attention to the days as they passed, after all, it wasn't as if they needed to be anywhere in particular, except of course when they had gone to see the play. When had that been again? Oh, that's right, it had been on Wednesday. They had stayed at the B&B the previous day, which made today Friday.

She sighed a little. Only a couple more days until they had to return to civilisation. Of course, she still had another week off work after that, but this time together had been so idyllic and she knew she would treasure these memories always.

She lay there contentedly, feeling the rise and fall of Sherlock's chest until his eyes blinked open and he shifted his head to look at her.

His lips curved upwards in a smile as he said, "I love waking up next to the most beautiful woman in the world." He closed his hand over hers where it rested on his chest.

She couldn't help giggling. "You are so ridiculously romantic, honey. I know perfectly well that I am not beautiful, but that doesn't matter, as long as _you_ think I am."

"Always," he proclaimed, shifting sideways to face her and leaning in towards her for a sweet good morning kiss. He raised his head slightly to peer over hers and look at the time. "It's almost eight o'clock," he commented. "Should we get dressed and go downstairs for breakfast?"

Molly gave him a coquettish glance. "No early-morning loving then?"

He chuckled and pulled her close, kissing her soundly before he responded. "There will be plenty of time for that when we go on our picnic today, or had you forgotten?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively and she giggled.

"I had, actually," she admitted a little guiltily. "I was just thinking about the fact that we only have two days left before we return home, and how perfect this time together has been."

He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. "It has certainly been a change of pace, not having to think about doing any detective work." He frowned a little. "I hope New Scotland Yard will be able to cope without my constant assistance in future, now that I actually have a personal life."

"I, for one, am glad you are not going to eat, sleep and breathe your work like you did in the past. After all," she added mischievously, "in a few months you might be starting a new adventure in parenthood."

He placed a hand on her stomach. "Speaking of parenthood, I guess we will know in a couple of weeks if that is in our near future." His expression clouded somewhat then. "With the amount of times we've made love, if you aren't pregnant, I think I will be worried that there is something wrong with my, er, swimmers."

Molly placed her hand over his and stroked it with her thumb gently. "There's no point in worrying about it right now. But Sherlock, just think, even at this moment there just might be a tiny life growing inside me, isn't that an amazing thought?"

"It is indeed," he agreed, brushing his lips against hers one last time before they got up and dressed for the day. Molly chose a comfortable red blouse with buttons that extended halfway down the front, and a floral peasant skirt with an elastic waist band, feeling it to be too warm to wear jeans. Fortunately she had stashed a pair of sandals in the top zippered pocket of the suitcase, and she put those on. Sherlock gave her an approving look. It was an outfit she had not worn before, part of a purchase she had made early in their engagement. Sherlock of course did not have much choice in clothing, it was jeans or trousers, and obviously, jeans made more sense if they were going to be having a picnic. He himself wore one of the plaid shirts they had chosen together for him a couple weeks before the wedding.

A full English breakfast awaited them on this occasion, scrambled eggs, bacon, baked beans, grilled tomatoes and sausages, along with buttered toast. Molly was unable to eat all of hers, but Sherlock was only too happy to polish it off, citing that he would need the extra calories as fuel for later. He gave her a suggestive look as he said that, and Molly's heartbeat immediately accelerated in response. He had become quite the master at innuendo.

"I was thinking," remarked Sherlock casually as they returned upstairs hand-in-hand, "that tomorrow we could do some souvenir shopping, perhaps pick up some presents for our friends, you know – John, Rosie and Mrs. Hudson." Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "I suppose we should get something for Mycroft as well."

Molly beamed at him, as he opened the door to the room then closed it behind them. "That's a wonderful idea, Sherlock. We definitely need to get something for Rosie especially." She flopped onto the bed, then put her hands behind her head. "So, that's tomorrow, what about now?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

Sherlock gave her a heated glance, raking his eyes over her from head to foot. "Don't tempt me, Molly. I actually have a couple things I want to look up on my phone for later."

Molly pouted at him, removing her hands from behind her head to cross her arms over her chest, and she said in an irritated tone, "Why is it you always get your way with me, whenever _you_ want it, but when I'm feeling a little _frisky,_ you turn me down?"

Sherlock leaned over to kiss her gently, then stood again, regarding her seriously. "I'm just trying to pace myself, sweetheart. We've made love eighteen times already, you know."

 _Eighteen times?_ she thought, blinking up at him in amazement. Molly had lost count herself, but she wasn't surprised that her husband had been keeping score. _He will probably want to boast to Mycroft as soon as he sees him,_ she thought, smirking a little at the notion.

Sherlock, obviously noticing the smirk, quirked an eyebrow at her. "Care to share your thoughts?"

She gave him a knowing look. "You're keeping score just so you can tell Mycroft exactly how many times we've made love, aren't you?"

He shifted his stance slightly and looked a little embarrassed. "Not exactly. My mind palace is keeping track automatically." His lips twitched and he added sheepishly, "But yes, I fully intend to throw it in my brother's face that I am no longer a virgin, in fact, far from it. Actually, it's a wonder neither of us is experiencing that honeymoonitis I've heard about."

Molly drew her brows together in concentration, before saying thoughtfully, "I guess that's because we always take our time and our bodies are prepared." Then she laughed self-consciously. "Well, I mean, _my_ body is always ready for yours."

She was a little surprised when Sherlock climbed onto the bed to lay next to her. He drifted a hand along her arm and moved himself closer, so their bodies were touching. "You know what?" he murmured silkily, and her heart began to beat fast at the tone of his voice and the way he was looking at her, "I think the extra breakfast has given me enough stamina to enjoy a little playtime together before our picnic."

She reached out her arms invitingly, and he closed the distance between them, kissing her deeply. Clothes they had put on only an hour earlier were soon dispensed with, thrown in a tangled heap together at the side of the bed. As always, Sherlock took his time with her, becoming ever more adventurous with his touches and caresses, leaving her gasping at those incredible sensations he always evoked in her, leaving her whole body trembling, aching for what only Sherlock could provide. And provide it he did at last, as they joined together again in love for the nineteenth time.

Finally they settled into peaceful bliss once more, as the flames of their passion were temporarily satisfied. They lay entwined for sometime, as they recovered from their exertions.

When they were both feeling a little more like their normal selves, Sherlock pressed a tender kiss to Molly's forehead. "Shall we have a game of chess before we head out for our picnic lunch?"

Molly stretched luxuriously before answering. "I'd like that." Then she peeked at him from beneath her lashes. "And this time, I promise I won't be a sore loser if you win."

Sherlock chuckled, and helped her to sit up so they could dress once again. On a whim, Molly decided to leave off her bra, and pushed it under the bed when Sherlock was busy dressing himself. She wondered if he'd notice, but apparently he didn't.

They enjoyed a lively game of chess and Molly concentrated fiercely on the game, trying to plan out her moves well in advance, and to predict what Sherlock's would be. She frowned with concentration and took her time, and was rewarded with the win, justly earned this time, and she knew it.

She beamed at Sherlock. "I won," she told him excitedly, after he laid his king down upon her triumphant cry of "Checkmate!" and he looked at her indulgently, with a smile on his perfectly formed lips.

"That you did, my love," he agreed, and they set to work replacing the pieces on the board.

Suddenly, Sherlock made an exclamation. "Dammit! I still need to look up that stuff on my phone." He looked at Molly pleadingly. "Would you mind finishing up with this while I do that? After all," he added with a cheeky grin, "you were the one who distracted me from doing what I needed to do in the first place."

Molly sniffed in mock offence, but was unable to keep up the pretence and giggled. "That's fine." She watched as Sherlock walked over to his side of the bed and picked up his phone and reading glasses from the bedside table, then leaned back against the headboard and began typing into it. She wondered what was so important that he needed to use his phone, but guessed she would find out.

When she had finished setting all the pieces back on the board correctly, Molly retrieved her iPad from the dressing table and went to her _Our Daily Bread_ app, she seated herself next to Sherlock on the bed and also leaning against the headboard. She was, not surprisingly, way behind on her daily devotionals.

They both sat there quietly for about half an hour, until Sherlock shifted his position and Molly looked over at him. She had finished catching up on her devotionals and was just amusing herself with a game of Sudoku. "Finished?" she inquired, raising a brow.

He nodded. "Yes. I think I have what I need."

She gave him a curious look, but he did not elaborate. To Molly's surprise, Sherlock pocketed his phone and his reading glasses instead of leaving them in the bedroom when they headed downstairs. She had the distinct feeling he intended to read something to her, otherwise why would he be holding onto his reading glasses?

They picked up the picnic basket, deciding not to peek inside it this time, but leave it as a surprise. Sherlock carried it once again, while Molly took the two blankets, and they retraced their steps of a few days earlier, skirting the edge of the park.

There had been a little sprinkling of rain the previous day and it had been somewhat cooler, but on this day the sun shone brightly overhead. They picked their way through the trees, noticing the dampness on the undergrowth. They wandered a little further in, until the trees almost blocked the light, and therefore the rain from the previous day had not penetrated the dense foliage of the trees. Molly noticed Sherlock looking around carefully, obviously making certain that he would know how to get back to the park. Molly herself was completely disoriented by the time they found a good spot on which to lay their blanket.

She was just about to set a blanket down between two trees, when Sherlock pointed to a sturdy, thick trunked tree, and indicated that she should set the blanket right next to the trunk. She did so and placed the second blanket on a corner of the first, while Sherlock put the picnic hamper next to it. He also set his phone down next to the hamper, and Molly wondered again why he had brought it.

They began to unpack the basket and found fresh ham and cheese sandwiches, a thermos of coffee, bottled water, more fruit and four bags of crisps. Two were plain crisps, and two were smoky bacon flavoured.

Sherlock poured the coffee into provided cups and added sugar to both, and creamer for Molly. They set the basket aside and sat together, tucking into the delicious sandwiches and fresh peaches. The peaches were delicious and very juicy, and Molly felt some of the juice dribbling from her mouth as she bit into hers. Not surprisingly, Sherlock caught the drip with his finger and licked it.

Fortunately, there were wet wipes available for them to clean their hands afterwards.

As soon as they had wiped off the peach juice, Sherlock and Molly immediately reached for the smoky bacon crisps, rather than the plain ones, then grinned at one another.

"Just as well there are two, or I might have had to fight you for them," quipped Sherlock, holding his bag aloft and Molly pouted at him.

"Do you mean to say you would not have just given them to me, to show how much you loved me?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow at him.

He chuckled and ran a hand lightly down her arm. "Nope," he answered, popping his _p_ , then added cheekily, "But I might have allowed you to _persuade_ me to hand them over."

Molly pursed her lips as she contemplated her own bag in her hand. "Well now, I must confess to being somewhat disappointed." Impulsively, she stood and snatched the bag from his hand playfully, then ran around the nearest tree.

Sherlock followed her as she dodged him and darted between the trees, teasing him with the bags in her hand, proclaiming, "They're both mine."

She managed to elude him for several minutes, until he doubled back around the thick trunk of a tree she was hiding behind and caught her. He placed a hand on the tree at either side of her waist and pinned her to it, saying huskily, "I've got you now, so hand them over."

She was still clutching at the crisps and stuffed them down her blouse. "Make me," she told him, her voice a little breathless from trying to escape his relentless pursuit.

He kept her pinned, moving his body closer, then dipped his head and kissed her, a long, languorous kiss that left her even more breathless than she had been before. His lips moved over hers, coaxing them open, exploring with his tongue, before moving his lips to trail a line down the column of her throat.

She gasped a little as he reached the delicate pulse point which was throbbing madly, either from her dashing around to escape him, or her desire for him, she really couldn't tell. She felt him move a hand from beside her to unfasten the buttons of her blouse, even as she felt the corner of the crisps packets digging into her chest, and regretted her actions in putting them there.

When he had released enough buttons, the crisp packets thankfully dropped to the ground, and Sherlock audibly drew in his breath, as he realised for the first time she wasn't wearing her bra.

"Molly, my sweet little vixen," he murmured, as he proceeded to feast on her bare flesh, eliciting several whimpers from her. He reached a hand up under her skirt and along her thigh, leaving her in no doubt as to what he wanted, and she reached down herself to unfasten his jeans, then tug them down with some difficulty, along with his boxers, even as he did the same with her knickers. She put her arms around his neck and held him tightly, as his hands grasped her firmly, and he returned to kissing her, as they absorbed each other's cries of passion, experiencing a rather different way of making love, as the crisps lay forgotten on the ground.

Afterwards, Sherlock rested his forehead against Moly's. "Well, that was rather – _unexpected,_ " he said, raising his hand to her cheek and caressing it. "You are entirely too tempting for my peace of mind." He conveniently produced a tissue for her from his shirt pocket and offered it to her.

She giggled, then sobered. "Don't you dare tell anyone about this. If you tell Mycroft or John about our different _locations_ , I will throttle you." She narrowed her eyes at him briefly, took the tissue from him gratefully, using it for its necessary purpose, then reached down to pull up her knickers and slide her skirt back into place as Sherlock did the same with his boxers and jeans.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. This is one secret that will stay between us." He gave her a rather smug smile, and she had the feeling he was congratulating himself internally on his newfound sexual prowess with more than the traditional positions.

When they were both properly dressed once more, Molly picked up the crisps and handed a bag to Sherlock. "I guess you earned this," she told him with a quirk to her lips.

He took the proffered bag, and they both munched on the crisps as they picked their way carefully through the underbrush. Molly suddenly realised that her feet were getting a little scratched due to the fact she was wearing sandals, but she kept it from Sherlock, not wanting to cut their picnic short. Molly would not have been able to find where they had been sitting earlier, but fortunately she had a wonderful detective for a husband, who was easily able to observe the signs of their progress through the trees and retrace their steps. Soon they were settled back on the blanket, polishing off the delicious crisps.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Yeah, I know, some of my readers might be closing their eyes in embarrassment at this chapter, but hey, making love can happen outside the bedroom, after all! I wanted it to be playful, passionate and sexy, without going to extremes, so I hope I was successful with that.

Don't those smoky bacon crisps sound delicious? I wish we could find them in America! Do you have a favourite flavour of chips, or crisp? Mine is chicken, but I can't find that flavour in America either, so my dear mum from Australia always brings some with her when she visits, as she is doing now. I always make a big list of Aussie goodies that I ask for her to bring on trips, (and yeah, that sometimes includes Vegemite).


	15. Poetry and Passion

Sherlock and Molly finished their crisps and shared a bottle of water from the picnic hamper, after which Sherlock placed one of her fingers in his mouth and sucked off the smoky bacon residue as she giggled, before he demanded one of his usual taste experiments.

Then, Sherlock picked up his phone and positioned himself so that his back was resting against the tree by which the blanket rested. Molly looked at him curiously as he opened his legs and invited her to sit in front of him.

She did so and leaned her head back against his chest while his one arm came around her. With his other hand he began to tap on his phone, and a moment later he began to speak.

It was at that point she realised why he had brought his phone.

" _Shall I compare the to a summer's day?_ " he quoted then went on to read, and she was aware that he was reading sonnets by Shakespeare. _How appropriate_ , she thought, snuggling against him and smiling, drifting her eyes shut as his wonderful, rich baritone voice washed over her.

He read six sonnets without pausing, and Molly thought it was one of the most romantic things Sherlock had ever done for her. The fact that he had chosen these lovely poems for her, sonnets of love, meant so much.

His voice trailed away into silence, she turned her head and shifted her position to look up at him. "That was so beautiful, Sherlock. Thank you." She turned her body to kiss his lips.

He stroked her hair. "There's one more, and I think it is the perfect one to describe married love. It is sonnet one hundred and sixteen. So turn back around and let me read it to you, love."

"Alright." Obediently, Molly turned back around and leaned against his chest once more as Sherlock found the sonnet he had saved on his phone and quoted,

" _Let me not to the marriage of true minds_

 _Admit impediments. Love is not love_

 _Which alters when it alteration finds,_

 _Or bends with the remover to remove._

 _O no! it is an ever-fixed mark_

 _That looks on tempests and is never shaken;_

 _It is the star to every wand'ring bark,_

 _Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._

 _Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_

 _Within his bending sickle's compass come;_

 _Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_

 _But bears it out even to the edge of doom._

 _If this be error and upon me prov'd,_

 _I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd._ "

Molly gave a huge, happy sigh as he finished reading. "That one was amazing. Thank you for reading it to me. How did you even think of doing this?"

Sherlock looked down at her and smiled. "Seeing as we are in the place where Shakespeare was born, I thought it fitting to read you some of his sonnets." Then his lips twisted slightly. "I had to read through a hundred and fifty-four of them to find the ones most suitable, and Sonnet eighty-seven was the last one which I felt was appropriate, until I got to one hundred and sixteen. Then I wasted about ten minutes reading the rest of the sonnets, most of which were a little depressing, and none of them were appropriate."

"Well it was wonderful, and you already know how much I love hearing your voice when you read to me. You need to make a recording of yourself reading it sometime," she told him, sliding an arm around his waist and slipping her legs over his one so that she was now sitting sideways against him.

He gave her a stern look. "Don't you go telling Mycroft and John about me reading you romantic poetry, or all bets are off about me imparting the details of our various sexual positions."

She bit her lip, then asked, "Can I at least tell Kaitlyn and Kayla?" She looked up at him a little pleadingly. She really wanted to share with her friends how incredibly romantic and wonderful Sherlock truly was.

He sighed. "If you must. But you must make Kayla promise to not say anything to John about it. I'm warning you, Molly, if I have any inkling that either my brother or my best friend know the truth of my romantic nature with you, I will be very cross. I have a reputation to maintain." He frowned at her.

Molly linked the fingers of her left hand with his right. "You and your public image," she said, grinning and shaking her head.

"Nevertheless, how I spend my private time with you is our business and no one else's," he asserted, rather stiffly, pursing his lips.

"Fine," she agreed, placing her head against his chest. "As long as you are a romantic hero with me in our private life, I guess it doesn't matter what the public thinks."

His fingers tightened on hers. "Thank you for understanding, sweetheart." She heard the note of relief in his voice, and understood that it made sense for him to maintain his reserved manner in front of the press and his clients, and that it would be embarrassing for him to be perceived as a romantic man in public, especially considering the nature of his profession. They needed to take him seriously.

They sat together in comfortable silence for several minutes, until Sherlock put an arm around her shoulders. "You know, Molly, you messed up my plans a little." There was a hint of laughter in his voice, and she looked up at him uncomprehendingly.

"How so?"

He squeezed her shoulder gently. "Well, I _was_ planning on reading those sonnets to you and then seducing you." He gave her a rather wicked grin. "But you got things going _earlier_ than I planned."

Her right hand, which had still been resting at his waist, tugged at his shirt until it came free from his jeans and she placed her hand upon his bare back, and said, peeking up at him from beneath her eyelashes, "Are you saying you aren't _up_ for another round?"

He cast her a rather scandalised look. "Are you using innuendo on me, Molly Hoo- _Holmes_?" he asked her with a raised eyebrow.

"Possibly," she whispered shifting her position to kneel in front of him and disengaging their joined hands so she could place her other one beneath his shirt as well, stroking the length of his back. "And you really need to get that name change down, husband, dear."

He let out a slight groan. "Molly _Holmes_ ," he emphasized as she giggled, "if you're attempting to seduce me, I don't know if I can-" He stopped suddenly as one of her hands ventured to a completely different part of his body, and she bent forward to press her body against his and kiss him.

And just like that, the combination of her kisses and caresses was enough to stoke the embers into flame yet again, as he wrapped his arms around her and returned those kisses and caresses until they were both moving urgently to remove clothes properly this time, and seek fulfillment once again.

Afterwards, as they lay cuddled naked under the second blanket, Sherlock held Molly to him closely and asked, with a kiss to the top of her head, "Are you trying to set a record for us?"

She giggled trailing her hand lightly down his chest in the way she loved to do, and feeling his involuntary intake of breath. "That depends on whether you can _perform_ again later and equal your previous best of four times in one day."

He raised an eyebrow and said in his most seductive voice, causing her to tremble slightly. "Is that supposed to be some kind of challenge? Because if it is, I can assure you I will definitely be _up_ for it later."

She tried to match his sexy tone with a throaty purr of her own. "I guess we'll have to see then if you can keep up with my heightened libido."

"My wife, the sexy little nymphomaniac," he groaned in mock consternation, then settled her more securely against himself.

"No more of a nymphomaniac than you are," she murmured drowsily before falling asleep in his arms.

When Molly awoke, it was to find herself no longer encircled in her husband's embrace. She sat up and saw Sherlock replacing items in the picnic hamper. He was already fully dressed, but he gave her one of those sexy, sideways glances at her partially exposed naked body. She looked around, unable to detect how much time had passed. "How long have you been up?" she questioned.

He shrugged, picking up the now empty thermos and placing that in the hamper as well, before closing the lid. "Not long. I just got dressed and wanted to clear things up here, so we can return to our room."

Molly stretched, then reached for her clothing, which Sherlock had conveniently placed next to the blanket. He gave her a hooded glance as she dressed quickly. She winced slightly as she pulled on her skirt, realising the tops of her feet were a little sore from the scratches she had received from the underbrush they had walked through.

Noticing her expression, Sherlock asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing. Just a few scratches from walking in amongst the trees. Some of the dried twigs scratched me."

He gave her a concerned look. "You should have worn trainers rather than sandals."

She pursed her lips. "Trainers with a skirt? Besides, I wasn't expecting to be running around the trees, trying to get away from you."

Sherlock folded his arms and walked towards her. "Nobody forced you to do that, sweetheart. As I recall, _you_ were the one who snatched those crisps away from me and ran off with them." The corner of his lips twitched upwards, but then he glanced down at her feet and noticed for himself the scratches.

He frowned. "As soon as we get back, I'm going to see if there's a first aid kit somewhere so I can put some antiseptic on those scratches."

She looked up at him, even as she gently placed the sandals back on her feet. "It's fine, Sherlock. No big deal. A few scratches are not going to kill me." Then she added, a little cheekily. "The scratches on my back from that tree trunk, on the other hand-"

He gave her a look of consternation. "You got scratches on your back?"

She giggled. "Not really. It might have been different if I wasn't still wearing my blouse, but as it was, I was fine, no more than brush burns, if anything."

He got down on his knees in front of her and raised a hand to her cheek, stroking it gently. "I'm sorry, Molly. I didn't even stop to think that you might be experiencing discomfort. You just drive me so wild sometimes."

She placed her hand over his and moved it so she could kiss his palm. "I told you, it's fine, Sherlock. I shouldn't even have brought it up. Don't think I didn't enjoy it just as much as you did. It's quite the most _sexy_ thing we've done, and I daresay not something too many people have experienced. I mean really, how many people have even made love in the outdoors, let alone against a tree?" She cast him a rather coquettish glance.

He pulled his hand away and folded his arms again. "Enough of those sexy looks, woman."

She tossed her head. "Very well, I'll behave – for now. Can you at least help me to get up?"

He huffed and extended a hand to her, then helped her to stand. He folded the blankets and handed them both to Molly, before picking up the picnic hamper. They cast a quick look around to make sure they had not left anything behind.

"We're going to have some fond memories of this place, aren't we?" he remarked, settling his free arm over her shoulders.

She smiled at him. "We certainly are. I guess we are just going to have to come back someday."

He gave her shoulder a little squeeze and they headed back to the B&B. Sherlock kept an eye on the ground, making sure there were no sharp twigs or other things that would further injure Molly's feet, and she appreciated the gesture.

They strolled along the side of the park, taking their time to just enjoy the light breeze, and the faint smell of the grass. It had definitely been cooler in the shade of the trees, but it was warm enough that Sherlock complained that he didn't have any shorts to wear.

"Well, we can get some when we go souvenir shopping tomorrow," Molly pointed out, grinning at her pouting spouse.

Sherlock sighed. "And we are off home the next day so I won't even get an opportunity to wear them if we buy them. I'm certainly not going to walk about London in shorts."

As soon as they were back inside, Sherlock immediately headed to the kitchen, set down the hamper and started opening cupboards. "Aha," he pronounced triumphantly, extracting a small first aid kit from under the sink.

Molly had just finished throwing away rubbish from the picnic hamper and she turned towards him. "I still don't think it's necessary."

Sherlock paid no attention to her protests and rummaged in the first aid kit, finding some antiseptic wipes. "Maybe I should put some gauze over your feet as well," he muttered, with a small frown.

Molly put her hands on her hips. "Sherlock, I'm not an invalid! If you insist, I'll let you put a little antiseptic on the scratches, but that is _all_."

"Oh, very well," he grumbled, setting the antiseptic wipes onto the counter. Molly let out a squeak when he unexpectedly lifted her onto the counter as well, but she realised it was a sensible idea.

Sherlock tore open the package then extracted and unfolded the square. Molly lifted her leg obediently and he took off her sandal, then clasped the bottom of her foot with one hand as he gently wiped over the scratches with the other. Molly winced at the sting, but made no comment. She remembered how solicitous he had been with her after the fall she had had on the steps outside their church a few weeks earlier, and how well he had looked after her.

He repeated the process with her other foot, then threw away the wipes and packaging and replaced the first aid kit under the sink.

He placed his hands on Molly's hips to lift her back down and smirked, and she knew he was suddenly cognizant of the fact that the counter was the perfect height if they ever wanted to indulge in another lovemaking venue.

She frowned at him. "We are _not_ making love on this counter, Sherlock," she told him firmly.

He cast her a smouldering glance. "I had no intention of doing so, but I do believe the kitchen counter in our flat is the same height if we ever feel like using if for something other than preparing food."

She couldn't prevent the colour that crept into her cheeks, even as she licked her lips and said, "Maybe."

Apparently satisfied with her response, he lifted Molly back down onto the floor and commented, "No point in you putting your sandals back on now."

"True enough." She bent down and picked them up, and they went upstairs to the bedroom.

They spent the evening quietly, playing another game of chess, which Sherlock won. Again, it was a close game. He took the Monopoly board game back downstairs, saying he didn't want to play it again, and Molly suspected he didn't want a repeat of her unreasonable irritation after losing the last game.

When they got hungry, Molly took the remaining pizza out of the fridge. Sherlock offered to take it downstairs and heat it up in the microwave, but Molly told him not to bother. So they ate cold pizza and watched reruns of _The Big Bang Theory._

"I can't wait for the new season," Molly commented at the end of an episode. "Sheldon proposed to Amy before you proposed to me, but here we are - married first." She grinned at him.

"It's just as well the show is on summer hiatus right now, otherwise you would have been wanting to watch it each week when we were planning the wedding," he remarked, rather dryly.

"Yes, but there were times we certainly could have used more distraction," she countered, with a twist to her lips.

"True enough," he agreed solemnly. Then he grinned at her and said, "I think I'd like a different type of distraction now."

They had both been sitting cross-legged on the bed facing the television, but now he turned and pushed her backwards and began kissing her with those wonderful sensual kisses that always caused her to respond.

It wasn't long before their restrictive clothing was tossed aside and Sherlock proved he could indeed equal his performance level of four as they made love again.

Afterwards, once they had recovered somewhat, Molly had to giggle at the smug tone in Sherlock's voice as he held her in his arms and said, "That makes twenty-two, my love. We've made love four times in a day twice now." Then he paused for a moment before saying thoughtfully, "Actually, that isn't true, because technically, on our wedding night it was past midnight on the second and third occasions we made love, so taking that into account, we actually made love four times on Sunday as well."

Molly giggled as he slid a hand from her shoulder down her arm, stroking it gently, before adding, "Statistically speaking, at least according to one survey I read which claims that the average person has sex one hundred and three times a year, we've managed to pack almost three months worth of lovemaking into the space of less than one week. At this rate, I estimate that we shall catch up to the rest of the population of sexually active people by the year-"

Molly put a finger to his lips. "Sherlock, I don't need statistics. I don't think we will be able to keep up this frequency once we are back home, sadly, but who cares? The main thing is that we have the blessing of God to make love whenever the mood strikes us. We don't need to feel any guilt or shame in doing something the Bible clearly approves of in marriage, and it makes me even more certain it was the right thing for us to do, to wait."

She brushed at his curls, twirling one of them with her finger, then looked into his eyes. "I love you so much, but words are so inadequate sometimes to express everything that's in my heart."

"I know," he agreed. "I'd have to say our honeymoon has been unforgettable and wonderful." Then he offered her a wry smile. "Although I suppose it would have been better if you had not ended up with scratches on your feet."

Molly tugged at his curl playfully, then released it to trace the line of his cheekbone with her fingers. "What we did was worth a few scratches, Sherlock. I rather like being – _adventurous_." She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, after looking up at him once more and blushing a little at her own daring in saying those words.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned and said, "I'm hoping that means you'll be open to a little more _adventure_ on the plane ride home."

She blushed again, and bit her lip. "I guess that depends on whether you can make sure we are not disturbed. I don't really fancy an audience. I might be adventurous, but I'm not _that_ adventurous."

His hand continued to stroke her arm lightly, as he said confidently, "I'm sure I can persuade the flight attendant to remain in the front with the pilots. Then, if you make sure you are wearing a skirt or a dress-"

Molly looked at him wide-eyed. "Apparently you've been contemplating this scenario for some time."

His lips twitched. "On and off since we were in the plane on the way here, but more-so this afternoon, when I discovered that you can be quite as adventurous as me about things of a sexual nature."

Molly chewed on her lower lip again for moment. "Perhaps even contemplating this is not a good idea, you know, when somebody will be so close by and might _hear_ us."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. "Sweetheart, you might as well start practicing being quiet now, because I assure you, I do not intend to curtail our sexual activity once our children come along. I've had enough cold showers to last for a lifetime, thank you very much." His tone was quite positive, and she felt herself thrill a little at his words, not because of his talk about wanting her so much, but because of the way he had said _children_ , which was quite an exciting thought. She wondered again whether she might possibly be already pregnant. She sincerely hoped so, because she longed to lavish her affection not only on Sherlock, but on any children they might be blessed with.

Would their children look like him, with his wonderful dark curls and blue-green eyes? Would their baby, or hopefully _babies_ be logically minded and analytical in the way he was? Or would they take after her and be softer with naturally forgiving natures? Would they take after their dad and play the violin, or would they enjoy singing as she did? She knew the one thing she hoped for their children, was that they would grow to love the Lord and be faithful stewards of the Christian faith. They had so much to look forward to. She was roused from her reverie by Sherlock's voice.

"Earth to Molly." He bent his head to kiss the top of her hair. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were in a mind palace of your own."

She gave a little sigh of contentment. "I'm sorry, I did drift off into a tangent there. You mentioned the word children, and it got me thinking about whether I could possibly be pregnant already, and what our children will be like." She reached up to plant a quick kiss on Sherlock's lips.

His eyes crinkled at the corners once again as he gazed down at her with a tender expression on his face. "Whatever they are like, they will be part of us, and we will love them and teach them to be the best people they can be." He reached a hand down to delicately stroke her abdomen, as if he too wondered if she might already be pregnant.

"I like the sound of that," Molly murmured, feeling suddenly sleepy. Despite the fact that it was not overly late, she soon fell into a deep sleep that lasted until morning, nestled in the arms of the man she adored.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Inspiration for Sherlock reading poetry actually comes from my own husband doing it to me on the day I returned to America on a fiancée visa. We had a romantic picnic and he read me poetry from a book in which he had placed large bookmarks. The bookmarks made up a puzzle that showed a treasure hunt for me which ended up leading to my engagement ring in a truffle box. Anyone else care to share a romantic proposal?

I must credit comp1mom for alerting me to Sonnet 116 which I had overlooked when reading through all the sonnets. It really is a perfect one for marriage, so I added those extra paragraphs after the initial writing of this chapter.

I do hope you enjoyed the flirty romance of this chapter - and of course the way Sherlock has been keeping track of how many times they have made love, and trying to spout statistics. Couldn't you just see him doing that?


	16. Buying Souvenirs

Sherlock's first thought when his eyes opened was, _Where has this week gone?_ , and his next was, _Well, it's not over yet._

His hand, which had been in its usual position covering Molly's breast, squeezed it gently and she started a little.

His eyes opened wide when her bottom wiggled against him invitingly, evoking a stirring of response that he knew would lead to one outcome. She knew _exactly_ how to tempt him, but that was okay. They were in a lovely, comfortable bed and they were naked.

But he wanted to get their plans for the day settled first, so he pulled himself slightly away, even as she made a soft sound of protest.

"Hush, love," he said fondly, reaching to stroke her shoulder despite himself. "I just want to figure out what we are going to do on this last full day of our honeymoon."

She turned to face him and pouted. "Can't it wait?" Her hand dipped towards a certain part of his anatomy but he moved his own hastily from her shoulder and stopped her, just in time.

"Molly," he chided, with a slight frown at his naughty little wife, "There's plenty of time for that. Let's just figure out our movements for the day first." Then he added, with a cheeky grin, "After that, I'll let you have your way with me."

She huffed a little but shifted onto her back. "Well, we are going to go souvenir and clothes shopping," she said, not looking at him.

"I know," he agreed patiently, "but when do you want to do that - this morning or after lunch?" He raised himself on an elbow to force her to meet his gaze.

She absently twirled a piece of hair around a finger before turning towards him once again and answering. "The sooner the better," she finally said.

"I was hoping you'd say that, " he admitted, adding, "Alright, after breakfast then." He nodded to himself and made a mental note. "Any idea on what to buy?"

Molly made a sound of exasperation. "Sherlock, we can figure that out later when we go out."

"But shouldn't we look online for poss-" The quelling glare Molly gave him stopped him mid-word, and he looked at those lovely down-turned lips of hers.

 _What the_ heck, he thought, _she's right. It can wait._

And he took her in his arms, kissing her thoroughly, then proceeding to show her he had his priorities in order.

Sounds of passion were eminently preferable to those of exasperation, reflected Sherlock sometime later, as Molly lay in his arms with a satisfied smile on her lips as the room lightened about them.

Her even breathing showed that she had fallen back into a contented sleep, but Sherlock, despite the endorphin release that usually led to him feeling drowsy, found on this occasion that his mind was too active.

He gently disengaged himself from Molly and got out of bed to take a shower. After removing the two day growth from his face, he returned to the bedroom and decided to tease Molly a little as he had done once before during their engagement. He bent over the bed and shook his hair, in which a substantial amount of water still lingered in his overly long curls. Droplets splashed onto Molly's face and she squawked, opening her eyes.

She looked up at him and frowned. "What was that for?"

Sherlock smirked. "Two reasons. First, because you wouldn't let me cut my hair before the wedding, and secondly, because it is time for you to get up. While you are taking a shower, I thought I would do some research on places we can visit to go and do our souvenir shopping, rather than just driving all over the place randomly."

Molly wiped the water droplets off her face and sat up, giving Sherlock a lovely view of those luscious curves he appreciated so much. He turned his head away, well aware that looking at them too long could mean they got nothing done today.

While Molly took her shower, Sherlock picked up her iPad and began to search for appropriate gift shops in the area. He noted the addresses of several places in the vicinity which seemed promising. With a bit of luck, they could get everything done this morning, go somewhere for lunch and then return to the bed-and-breakfast for the rest of the day.

That done, Sherlock decided to amuse himself by researching kissing. He had pondered before whether there was something in the act of kissing that awakened sexual desire, because it certainly seemed to heighten his desire for Molly, and their many passionate kissing sessions during their engagement had served to inflame their awareness and desire for one another on a number of occasions, leading to them almost consummating their relationship before the wedding night on several occasions.

He was unsurprised, therefore, to discover there _was_ a link between kissing and sexual arousal. Kissing stimulated the release of both dopamine and oxytocin from the brain. No wonder he felt a natural high when kissing his wife - cocaine usage also caused dopamine build-up and euphoria as a result. Thank God, kissing wasn't a life-threatening addiction as his former drug use was, he reflected.

He was still thinking about that when Molly emerged from the bathroom with her hair in a practical ponytail.

Noticing the iPad still on his lap, open to a website page about kissing, Molly sat beside him and looked at him inquiringly. "Why were you reading up about kissing? You don't need any tips. I think we've mastered that pretty well over the last couple of months."

Sherlock grinned at her. "I was just curious to see why kissing you is such a temptation for me to always progress things further than that alone."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And what did you discover?"

"Pretty much that the release of dopamine and oxytocin gives me a high much like what I used to get from drugs," he reported, closing the iPad cover and giving her a suggestive look. "I guess I replaced one addiction with another."

Molly giggled. "I'm quite happy to feed your new addiction whenever the mood strikes you."

"Like now?"

She swatted at him playfully. "Not if you want to get that souvenir shopping done this morning."

Sherlock pouted, but he knew she was right, so he contented himself with one quick, closed mouth kiss, and they headed downstairs for breakfast.

After breakfast, Sherlock pulled out his phone and put in the address of the first shop, suggesting that Molly drive so that he could navigate her to the correct location.

They ventured first to a shop that was a little distance away, which worked well because it appeared most places opened at nine o'clock or later in the morning. The clothing store was named Fatface. Sherlock had looked at the website and seen a dress he thought might be appropriate for Molly to wear on the way home. The dress in question, a black and white floral print wrap dress with three-quarter sleeves and V-neck was available, and he urged Molly to try it on.

When she appeared from the dressing room wearing the dress, Sherlock couldn't help letting out a low whistle, and Molly blushed. "That's what you're wearing tomorrow," he informed her confidently, then smirked.

Without further ado, they made the purchase and headed to their next destination, a shop named Parkinsons, which was only a couple minutes walk away. Sherlock had looked online and found that they had men's shorts. He found a plain, dark blue pair, tried them on and had to grin when Molly let out a whistle this time. Upon purchasing the shorts, he decided to wear them immediately. After all, he was not likely to wear shorts very often in London, accustomed as he was to wearing his trousers throughout the year.

Clothing purchases completed, it was time to look for something for Rosie. At this point, Sherlock took over the driving so that he could hold Molly's hand.

Sherlock and Molly ventured into the RSC shop which was housed in the theatre where they had been to see the play, and Molly spotted a bib that read, "Though she be but little she is fierce". There was a baby bodysuit with the same inscription, which was from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

Sherlock, in the meantime, had discovered a lovely plaque with the words of Sonnet 116 on it. He picked it up and showed it to Molly.

"What do you think?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "We could place it on the wall behind our bed and it would be our own remembrance of our honeymoon."

"I love it!" Molly enthused, placing a hand on his arm. "It will be a lovely reminder of the way you read to me on our picnic."

He smirked, placing a kiss to her temple and whispering in her ear, "And the delightful things that happened on both of our picnics," to which he was satisfied to see the colour bloom in her cheeks at her own remembrance.

After making the purchase, Sherlock drove the short distance to Sheep Street which seemed to be a central location. He wasn't sure what to buy for his brother, John and Mrs. Hudson.

They walked along the street and headed onto High Street.

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Molly, "There's a fudge shop. Maybe we could buy some as a gift?" she suggested.

Sherlock was happy to enter the shop with her, as he had no idea what an appropriate gift would be.

Roly's Fudge was an extraordinary place. There were dozens of different types of fudge that could be sampled before buying, and the couple enjoyed sampling several different kinds.

Sherlock spotted one he knew would be perfect for Mycroft - Single Malt Whiskey Fudge.

"It's perfect, chocolate _and_ whiskey," he commented to Molly, who grinned. "He can eat it while he is sipping the whiskey we got him as a gift for being an usher," he added, creating a clear picture in his mind of Mycroft sitting in a comfortable chair, glass of whiskey in one hand, shoveling fudge into his mouth with his other hand. Mycroft never turned down his sweets.

"How about this one for Mrs. Hudson?" Molly gestured at the Vanilla Clotted Cream Fudge.

"Sounds good," approved Sherlock. He didn't care, he just wanted their shopping to be done with. He preferred to do his shopping online.

They ended up purchasing some plain chocolate fudge for John and for themselves. In addition, Sherlock couldn't pass by the honeycomb fudge, and Molly was enamoured by the raspberry and white chocolate fudge. It was a very satisfied couple that left the fudge shop with their purchases.

Sherlock held the bag in one hand and took Molly's hand with his other. "Is there anything else we need to do?" he asked, as they walked back the way they had come.

Molly pondered the question for moment. "I don't think so. Maybe we should have an early lunch and then go back to the B&B?"

Sounds good to me," Sherlock agreed and they found a tea room at which to eat lunch.

As they returned to the car, Sherlock suggested they come back in the evening for dinner and eat at the Rose and Crown pub, which they had just walked past, and Molly agreed.

After depositing their purchases in the bedroom, Sherlock decided it was time to turn their attention to other more _pleasurable_ pursuits. It _had_ been a few hours, after all.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his wife and began to kiss her passionately. It was time to let that kissing work its magic. Molly immediately responded, tugging his shirt upwards so she could feel the skin of his chest beneath. It wasn't long before he was lifting her in his arms and carrying her over to the bed.

After they had made love and were laying together in the contented afterglow of their passion, Sherlock kissed Molly's forehead and asked, "Do you think you might put on that other babydoll tonight that I bought for you? It's the last night of our honeymoon, after all."

She looked up at him and smiled. "I think that can be arranged."

They spent the remainder of the afternoon playing chess, each winning a game, and doing a few more lateral thinking puzzles. Sherlock was quite impressed at the speed with which Molly was able to make logical deductions. He of course had always known she was an incredibly intelligent woman, but he suspected that many people underestimated her. In those early days, he knew he had taken advantage of her when she had her crush on him, but the one thing he had never done was insult her intelligence, choosing instead to target her questionable taste in unsuitable men. John and Greg Lestrade had been the recipients of his sarcastic comments about their intelligence, or lack thereof, as indeed had poor Anderson, but never Molly.

In the evening they headed to the Rose and Crown. There was a summer menu, from which Sherlock selected Steak and RuddleS Ale Pie, choosing chips of course rather than the mashed potatoes. Molly chose the Chicken Tikka Skewers. They sampled each other's dishes but both preferred their own.

After finishing their meal, Sherlock suggested they take dessert along with them back to the B&B. "We still have the rest of that wine to drink as well," he pointed out to Molly. Two Chocolate and Black Cherry Tortes were purchased.

Back at the B&B, once the tortes had been safely deposited into the small fridge, Molly looked at Sherlock questioningly. "Would you like me to put on the lingerie now or later?"

"Let's play a game of chess with you wearing that, and we'll do an experiment to see whether I can win when you are tempting me that way," he suggested as his lips curved upwards.

Molly giggled at him and rummaged through the drawer to find the black babydoll and matching G-string, then headed into the bathroom.

Sherlock seated himself at the table, ready to play another long, evenly matched game of chess.

When Molly emerged from the bathroom, she had pulled her hair out of its ponytail and was looking exceedingly alluring. Sherlock had the distinct feeling that this was one game of chess he would not win, because he knew the sight of her would be extremely distracting. His only recourse was to even the odds somewhat, so he took off his shirt and jeans even as Molly watched him with her hands on her hips.

"I thought the idea was to see whether I could distract you from the game, not the other way around," she huffed, pouting at him.

Sherlock grinned. "I need to even the playing field at least a little, otherwise we won't even get halfway into the game before I concede defeat," he told her, as he grasped her hand and led her to the table.

Sherlock found it was rather difficult to concentrate on the game at hand when Molly was doing her best to distract him with little seductive poses when it was his turn to play. He noted with some satisfaction though, that she too found it rather difficult to concentrate, as she glanced repeatedly at his bare chest.

After mistakes and missed opportunities on both their parts to get ahead in the game, Sherlock gave up and reached a hand over to take Molly's. "Why don't we just call this one a stalemate?" he suggested.

She pursed her lips momentarily then nodded. "I agree."

He stood, then swept her up into his arms to take her back to their favourite part of the room, depositing her gently on the bed as usual. His hands skimmed her body as he kissed her, pushing aside the delicate material almost immediately so he could feel her body. He had been tantalised long enough.

Molly whimpered as he caressed and kissed her sweet breasts, then moved his mouth to swirl his tongue around her navel. He explored her body with his lips and tongue, delighting in every sound she made and her body's response to him. With a single-minded purpose, he teased her and tormented her until she was begging for him to be with her. He couldn't get enough of her, and consumed with need, he finally united with her, being spurred on by the sounds of passion she could not control, until they were both out of breath and clutching each other as sensation overwhelmed them.

As Molly lay curled in his arms afterwards, Sherlock felt it had been quite a satisfying day for the last one of the honeymoon, and it wasn't over yet. He resisted the urge to take a nap, gently stroking Molly's hair and just enjoying having her in his arms, where she belonged.

He felt her lips press a kiss against his chest before she murmured, "Thank you for making this the perfect honeymoon."

He suddenly remembered the scratches on her feet. "How are your feet feeling?" he asked, raising himself onto his elbow to look downwards.

She obligingly raised her feet closer. "They are fine, Sherlock. Until you just mentioned them, I had forgotten I even got any scratches."

He noted with relief that the small lines marring the surface of the top of her feet had already almost healed.

Sherlock continued to hold his wife against him for some time until finally he decided they should probably eat their dessert and finish the wine.

After they ate, feeding each other the decadent dessert, and finishing the wine, Sherlock suddenly felt a little sadness wash over him, and he couldn't help the slight sigh that escaped his lips.

Molly touched his arm. "What's wrong?"

He raised his hand to cover hers. "Nothing's wrong exactly, it's just that I feel a little sad that this time with you, away from everything else that might keep us busy, is almost at an end."

She reached forward and pressed her lips against his gently. "Perhaps, but once we are home we won't need to keep our hands off each other at night like we did before the wedding." Her lips quirked and Sherlock couldn't help chuckling.

"True enough, my love." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. They had not bothered re-dressing in order to eat there dessert and he was rather glad of that, because he was definitely going to have to work off some of that dessert.

"Twenty-six," murmured Sherlock with more than a little satisfaction later that night, as he spooned Molly from behind. Four times in one day on four occasions. He was actually rather amazed at his body's ability to bounce back and be ready for more so frequently, but then again, it was almost as if a dam had burst on his readiness for sexual exploration, just as the dam on his emotions had burst at Sherrinford.

"Hmmm?" she responded sleepily.

"Lovemaking tally." He kissed her hair. "I'm pretty sure we've made love more times than Mycroft has done in the past year or even several," he said, rather smugly.

"You're so silly, Sherlock," she told him drowsily and rested her hand over his, encouraging him to hold her even closer.

"Maybe so, but you'll confirm it if I feel it necessary to boast a little, won't you?" he inquired, giving her breast a little squeeze.

"Mhm," was her response, and he had the feeling she hadn't really heard him.

And with that rather pleasing reflection uppermost in his mind about bragging, just a _little_ , about his newfound sexual prowess, he slept.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Here again I researched all the places I mentioned by name and what they sold. Sometimes I regret you can't show pictures on this site, because I would have loved to show a picture of that pretty wrap dress.

The fudge is all legitimate, and reviews on that place are amazing. If you like fudge and ever get to Stratford-Upon-Avon, check it out. I most certainly would. I kind of feel like I know the place already having researched it so thoroughly!

Once again I must credit comp1mom for the idea of the Sonnet 116 plaque which she has herself. I love incorporating things by readers into my stories, It's one of the reasons I like reviews so much, when people share things or make suggestions. Reader suggestions enhance my stories and give people a chance to be active participants as well.

If you have any suggestions for me to incorporate into my stories, please don't hesitate to make them. I'll let you know if it is something I feel I can work with.

Hope you liked the revisit of Sherlock shaking his wet hair onto Molly!

What did you think about Sherlock's inner reflection about Molly's intelligence? Have you noticed he NEVER makes fun of that, only her jokes and those comments about her mouth/breasts (which means he was noticing her ha ha)? He insults the intelligence of others so often (especially in season one). What do you think? Differing opinions are fine.

Oh, and I made a late addition to the chapter with Sherlock's kissing research, because it will come into play in one of my future dream stories. I found it very interesting to discover the information about dopamine and oxytocin release - were you aware of that? No wonder kissing is so much fun!


	17. Joining an Exclusive Club

A gentle breeze was wafting over Molly's face, near her ear. She opened her eyes and realised it wasn't a gentle breeze at all, but her husband teasingly causing the air displacement. She made a little murmur of acknowledgement, and felt his hands moving along her body, as his mouth pressed kisses to her shoulder.

"Molly," he murmured, "when we get home, we might have to rethink this sleeping naked thing."

Her eyes opened wide and she turned to face him, giving him a questioning look. "Why?"

He gave a little huff of annoyance. "Because at this rate I am never going to want to get out of bed to do any work for any cases, and I'm not going to want to let you get up for work either."

A smile spread across Molly's lips and she reached to tug playfully at one of his curls. "We've only been married for a week, Sherlock; at some point it will get easier to separate from one another, at least temporarily."

He didn't look convinced, as his hand grasped her hip possessively. "But what if you have to go to work and I have to go back to taking cold showers?"

She smirked at him, and ran a hand along his shoulder and bicep, squeezing it gently. "That's easily solved. I can always set the alarm to wake me an hour earlier than I need to be up for work."

He brightened at that, looking deeply into her eyes. "So you would not be averse to making love every morning before work, even if it means less sleep?"

She bent forward to press her lips against his briefly. "I guess we'll just have to go to bed earlier to make up for it."

He chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "I suppose that means we will have to get to bed two hours earlier than we've been used to," he informed her, moving his hand to squeeze one of the cheeks of her bottom.

She raised an eyebrow at him, even as he began to circle his hand around said cheek, which was making it hard for her to concentrate. "You think you need two hours in the morning?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Not two hours in the morning, that would be nonsensical to think I'd have the stamina for a single two hour lovemaking session," he scoffed, then continued, "I am allocating an hour for the time we spend making love _after_ we go to bed." He gave her a seductive look that made her heart begin to pound, as always. "That's not to say I may not find other times to indulge, like in the middle of the night, when you come home from work, or when I come home to you after working a long case, or even a short one - any time really."

Molly giggled and her hand drifted to his waist. "Well, now that you have all that sorted out, what would you like to do at this moment?"

"As if you didn't know," he whispered huskily, pulling her close, and lowering his lips to hers, kissing her passionately, touching her body and evoking those sensations which thrilled and excited her. Her heart sang with joy as they joined together, glorying in their shared union.

As she lay in his arms afterwards, he asked, "You're going to wear that dress today, aren't you?"

She suddenly recalled what exactly he wanted her to wear the dress for, and swallowed. "Are we really going to do this?"

"Do what?" he asked innocently with a grin that betrayed the fact that he knew exactly what she was asking.

She poked him. "You know, join the _mile high club_."

He pursed his lips. "I thought we already discussed this, Molly. You told me you wanted to be sure we wouldn't be disturbed, and I assured you I could make that happen."

"I don't recall actually agreeing to anything," she informed him teasingly, with a little twinkle in her eye. She knew she would never refuse him anything, but at least she could make him work for it.

He frowned at her. "But you implied assent by what you said. You said, and I quote, ' _I guess that depends on whether you can make sure we are not disturbed._ '"

She tapped his nose. "But you can't ensure it one hundred percent."

He growled and pulled her close, giving her a hard, yet sensual kiss. "Will you wear the damned dress or not?"

She blushed and responded, "I'll wear it."

And when they did get dressed, she went one step further, finding the pink and silver metallic thong she had been given as a hen night gift from Lori. _I wonder what he'll think of that?_ she wondered silently, feeling a little sense of nervous anticipation that matched the way she had felt when she had changed into those crotchless knickers at the end of their wedding reception. She slipped on the thong when Sherlock was busy dressing himself in his single pair of trousers and that purple shirt she loved so well, as if to entice her further.

They went downstairs and enjoyed one last lovely breakfast cooked by Kara, before heading back upstairs to pack. As Molly put away things in the suitcase she asked Sherlock, turning her head towards him, "What time do we need to be at the airfield?"

Sherlock was busy putting the chess pieces away in their drawer, getting ready to take the board back downstairs. He thought a moment, pressing his lips together in concentration before answering. "Eleven-thirty."

"That's good, we still have plenty of time then." Molly hummed as she went to the bathroom to retrieve their toiletries. She looked at Sherlock's shaving implements. "Did you want to shave before we leave?" she called, then added, peeking out of the bathroom at him, "You know how I think you look sexy with stubble, but I do prefer to feel the clean-shaven look when we are kissing."

He grinned, even as he headed towards the door to take the chessboard downstairs. "I'll take care of it as soon as I get back."

When everything was packed and Sherlock had finished shaving and put his accessories away in the suitcase, the couple surveyed the room that had been their home away from home for the past week. Sherlock slipped his arm around Molly's shoulders. "I'm so glad we came here rather than some exotic location where we would have felt obliged to do a whole lot of sightseeing. That one day was enough for me."

Molly leaned her head against his shoulder. "For me too. It has been absolutely wonderful. But I must admit, I'm looking forward to going back to our real home and just enjoying being married to you, and taking care of you."

He kissed the top of her head. "You've been taking care of me ever since you moved into Baker Street, Molly."

You know what I mean. I want to get on with being your wife. No more wedding to plan, just a lifetime together." She looked up at him and knew he understood.

He bent and kissed her tenderly on the lips, "And one day, in the not too distant future, God willing, a life that will include our own family." He picked up the suitcase and overnight bag while Molly did one last check of the bedroom and bathroom to make sure nothing had been left behind. This turned out to be rather fortuitous, as she fished out the G-string that belonged to the black babydoll from just beneath the bed.

Sherlock smirked "Oops. Guess I got careless last night when I was in a hurry to undress you."

"Guess so," responded Molly with a smirk of her own as she moved to the overnight bag Sherlock was carrying and unzipped it just enough to shove the scrap of material inside.

Kara and her husband Martin were both downstairs when they got there.

"Let me take your bags to your car, if you would give me the keys as well?" suggested Martin, adding, "I hope you have enjoyed your stay here."

Molly smiled at the man. "It has been wonderful, and we definitely plan on coming back sometime." She looked at Kara. "And thank you for the lovely breakfasts and the picnic lunches you provided for us."

Sherlock added his thanks as well and he and Molly were soon on their way back to the airfield.

When they arrived, they saw the private jet waiting for them. The same flight attendant who had taken care of them a week earlier was on hand to help them get settled into the jet.

They sat as they had done a week earlier, with Sherlock facing the rear of the plane and Molly facing forward. Molly noticed the partition that separated the cabin from the cockpit and the place where the flight attendant would also sit. She bit her lip nervously, still feeling a little apprehensive about what she had basically agreed to do with her husband.

Once they were buckled, the flight attendant took her seat on the other side of the partition for lift off. Molly noticed that the noise of the engines was quite loud, something she had been too distracted to realise on their initial journey.

Within a few minutes, the woman returned to the main cabin to ask if they needed anything, and she handed them some peanuts and water.

"Thank you, we shall not be requiring anything further from you until we reach the ground. My wife and I would like to spend this time undisturbed," Sherlock informed her.

The flight attendant looked from him to Molly and smiled. Molly blushed, sure the woman suspected what Sherlock's intentions were, but she merely pasted a smile on her own face.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes. Just knock on the separating door if you need anything," the woman said, then exited the main cabin and closed the partition firmly behind her.

Sherlock gave Molly a seductive smile and patted his knees. "Care to join me, Mrs. Holmes?"

Molly knew this was not a very long journey, and time was of the essence, so she unbuckled her seatbelt and walked over to Sherlock, sliding to sit sideways on his lap. She noted the hum of the jet engines was still reasonably loud, and would undoubtedly mask any sounds they made, which made her feel slightly less nervous.

She turned her face towards Sherlock's expectantly as he slid a hand around her waist and then his other hand stroked her cheek. She slid her own arms around his neck, threading her fingers through his curls and leaning over to meet his lips with hers.

She closed her eyes, thrilling at the sensation his lips always gave her. She would have been quite content to just kiss him for the duration of the plane ride, but obviously, Sherlock had other ideas. Almost immediately he removed his hand from her cheek to slide it along her leg and up her outer thigh. Then his hand travelled to her uncovered bottom and he stopped kissing her, as he gave a sharp intake of breath. Molly opened her eyes to his own rather shocked gaze. Then his hand felt the elastic of the thong.

"My God, Molly," he said in hushed tones, "I thought for a minute you were going commando. Where did this," he snapped lightly at the elastic, "thong come from?"

Molly blushed and ducked her head against his chest. "It was a gift from Lori, along with some pyjamas," she said in a voice muffled by his shirt.

She felt the vibration of Sherlock's chest as he chuckled. "Mmm, very thoughtful gift," he commented softly, rubbing the bare skin of her bottom briefly.

Molly could feel Sherlock's own desire rising for her, as he reached his hand to the top of the elastic and began to tug it down. She accommodated him, lifting her hips and moving one of her own hands to unfasten his trousers. His own hips lifted to allow for an adjustment of his own trousers and boxers.

Molly couldn't help giggling as they tried to find a suitable position, and they finally decided that they wanted to be able to kiss one another.

The necessary accommodations were made and they commenced, in a rather urgent manner due to the time constraint, which nonetheless led them both to a mutually satisfying conclusion.

Feeling rather breathless, Molly scrambled off of Sherlock's lap and hurried into the tiny bathroom at the rear to clean up. She was very grateful for the cubicle, small though it was. As soon as she exited the bathroom though, she grimaced.

Sherlock of course, had been watching her progress towards him, he had re-dressed himself and was holding out her thong which she took and slipped back on. "What's with the face?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you seemed to enjoy it as much as I did."

"I did," she admitted, then went and whispered in his ear, "but now it smells like _sex_ in here."

Sherlock's lips curved upwards. "Well, that is not surprising. The combination of the acidic and alkaline nature of our bodily fluids leads to-"

"Sherlock!" Molly hissed, cutting him off. "I don't need a lesson in _why_ it smells like sex, I want to know how we can get rid of it!"

Sherlock gave an unconcerned shrug. "It will dissipate soon enough, due to the ventilation of the air conditioning system, most likely before we land." Then he gave her one of those sidelong glances. "Are you saying that you don't enjoy that scent?"

Molly bit her lip and put her hands on her hips, facing him. "I didn't say that at all. I just don't want _other_ people being aware of it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that. "May I point out to you, my love, we are not doing anything wrong, simply enjoying the intimacy that God has given us to share with one another. Besides, even if the flight attendant were to notice it, she wouldn't say anything, so there's no point in worrying." He smirked at her. "Now come here and kiss me."

With a sigh of capitulation, Molly returned to Sherlock's lap and they spent some time in non-verbal communication until the seatbelt light went on.

In no time at all, they were safely on the ground once again and exiting the plane.

Molly was not surprised to see Mycroft's town car waiting for them, and the man himself standing beside it.

She glanced at Sherlock when she heard him mutter, "I suppose my brother is here to embarrass me."

The chauffeur walked towards the plane to take their bags, even as Sherlock and Molly headed in Mycroft's direction.

As soon as they reached him, Mycroft greeted them with a, "Welcome back. I trust you enjoyed your little honeymoon?" His lips twisted a little into what was probably Mycroft's version of a smirk.

Sherlock returned it with a proper smirk of his own. "Very much so, Mycroft. My wife and I have been enjoying getting to know one another better, and doing so _frequently_ , may I add."

Mycroft gave a dry laugh. "I suppose you are going to say that now you have been sexually liberated that you are making up for lost time."

Sherlock folded his arms and looked at Mycroft crossly. "And why is that so hard to believe?" He turned his head towards Molly and gave her a pleading look. "Why don't you tell my brother how sexually _liberated_ I am these days."

Molly looked at him wide-eyed. "Do you mean frequency or location?" she asked, blushing a little while suppressing a small smile.

Sherlock uncrossed his arms and slid one around her shoulder. "Either will do. Whatever will stop Mycroft from ever making fun of me again in this regard."

Molly coloured again, but looked at Mycroft and said bravely, understanding what Sherlock needed from her. "Let's just say that three times a day is the minimum, and that we just enjoyed a quite _lovely_ return journey on the plane."

She was surprised when Mycroft reached out, took her hand and kissed it. "You are a most loyal and wonderful woman, Doctor Molly Hoo-, pardon me, _Holmes_. It is an honour to have you as part of our family." He gave her a most sincere smile, which she returned.

At that moment the chauffeur finished putting their things into the boot of the limo, and Mycroft gestured for them to enter the vehicle.

As they rode towards Baker Street, Mycroft commented, "By the way, expect a visit from John sometime today. He was asking when you were returning. Apparently he owes you some money." His lips twitched. "It appears you won your bet."

Sherlock grinned. "I'd almost forgotten about that." He was holding Molly's hand and squeezed it gently.

She grinned back at him. "Kaitlyn owes me some money too." Then she added, "I do hope John brings Rosie with him. We didn't get to see her much at the reception."

Silence ensued for a short time, until Sherlock cleared his throat and addressed his brother. "Mycroft, I've been meaning to ask, when I was little, before all that stuff happened with Victor disappearing, did I act like a normal little boy?"

Mycroft looked at him quizzically. "For a man who has just returned from his honeymoon, that seems a rather odd question." He looked at Molly. "Has my little brother been trying to make excuses for his rude behaviour to you and others over the years?"

Molly frowned at him. "Of course not. He is fully aware of the way he used to be and we have had some wonderful discussions during our honeymoon." She darted a glance at Sherlock, and added impishly, "in between doing _other_ things."

Mycroft's lips twitched into an amused smile, then he returned his attention to Sherlock. "Well, if you consider it normal to be constantly underfoot running around and playing pirates with your friend, and playing amongst the fake gravestones at Musgrave, then yes, I would say you had a fairly innocuous early childhood. Would you mind explaining why you are asking me this?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "It's just something suggested by the therapist I was seeing after Mary died." He hesitated, then said, "She thought I might have a condition which explained the way I acted. I told her how arrogant I had been in making those deductions of Vivian Norbury, and also how I had trouble dealing with social situations in general. She had me do an online test and the results seemed to indicate I might have Asperger's syndrome."

Molly took Sherlock's hand and held it even as Mycroft responded. She knew this had to be a difficult subject for him to discuss with his brothers.

Mycroft seemed surprised. "I suppose I can understand why people might think you had a condition like that, brother mine. Indeed, in many ways you do fit the criteria," he said slowly. He expelled a deep breath, then continued. "I must confess, I hold myself at least partially responsible for the man you became. I'll just say this, Sherlock. Until Victor disappeared, you had no problem expressing affection to your family, although you did prefer your own company to that of others, for the most part. You changed completely after your friend disappeared, locked away your emotions, and, as you know, you forgot about our sister."

He paused again and his lips tightened. "I failed you, Sherlock. I should have helped you cope with things, rather than allow you to forget. Mummy and Daddy didn't want to deal with it, and they convinced me it was best that you deal with it in your own way, and that I should not interfere. I went along with it." His voice was heavy with regret.

Molly spoke up, softly. "Mistakes were made all around, Mycroft. We all make them."

And she listened as Sherlock spoke to his brother, in a gentle manner she had not heard before. "I don't harbour any ill feelings for you over my past, Mycroft. You had good intentions, and you were only a teenager yourself, shouldering an immense burden. We cannot predict how my life might have turned out differently. What is important is the way my life is now." He glanced at Molly, giving her a gentle smile that matched the tone of his voice, before returning his attention to his brother. "I have no complaints. I am a rich man, I have a wife who loves me and a God who does the same. I want you to know I forgive you, truly I do."

Mycroft's mouth opened and closed, and he swallowed, before saying thickly, in a voice Molly had never heard before, one that sounded suspiciously as if he were trying to hold back his tears. "Thank you, brother mine. That means more than you'll ever know."

And in that moment, for the first time, Molly really understood the depth of love that existed between the two brothers, even if unspoken. She was surprised, and quite amazed to hear the next words from Sherlock.

"I love you, Mycroft. You're a good big brother."

Molly could see the suspicious moistness in Mycroft's eyes as he blinked several times and responded softly, "Love you too, brother mine." She had a feeling it was the first time the brothers had expressed the words out loud.

The men smiled at one another tentatively, and Molly squeezed Sherlock's hand, then leaned over to kiss his cheek. _Thank you Lord, for allowing me to witness this,_ she thought to herself quietly.

Conversation ceased after that, and it wasn't long before they arrived at Baker Street. The chauffeur removed the suitcase and overnight bag from the boot, handing them to Sherlock once he had alighted from the vehicle and helped Molly to do the same.

"Hold on," said Sherlock to the chauffeur, rummaging in the overnight bag. He found the fudge for Mycroft and leaned back into the open door of the limo to present it to his brother. "Just a small token of our appreciation for everything you did for us, Mycroft," he said, thrusting the small package at his sibling.

Mycroft looked surprised, but took the gift. His eyes lit up when he saw what it was. "A welcome combination of both sweet and whiskey. Thank you, brother mine. I will enjoy it immensely." Then he added, peering out the door and looking from Sherlock to Molly. "Enjoy your extra week off together, and I will see you soon."

Molly's mouth dropped open a little. How had he known she was having another week off work?

But then she reasoned, _It makes sense that I would not be returning to work the day after getting back from my honeymoon._

She and Sherlock watched as the limousine slid smoothly away from the kerb.

Sherlock unlocked the door and opened it. Molly was about to step inside when he prevented her entrance. "Hold on, let me take the bags in first."

She stood patiently as he put the luggage just inside the door, and then she gave a little shriek mixed with a giggle as he picked her up in his arms and carried her over the threshold.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So, the idyllic honeymoon is over and it is back to reality - one last chapter to finish things up. If you were hoping for drama and mystery, I decided Sherlock and Molly deserved an uneventful, romance-filled honeymoon. There was enough angst and drama in the engagement story LOL.

Hope the mile high club didn't make you cringe too much. At least Sherlock and Molly are enjoying wedded bliss thoroughly, as they should!

I did want to address the Asperger's thing again, and I felt it was something Sherlock would have really wanted to know, just to have a little more information on how he had been as a child. I hope too you liked the touching scene of forgiveness and love between the brothers. I think verbal expressions of love go a long way to healing and restoring relationships. What do you think?

As always, I look forward to hearing the thoughts and opinions of my readers. Your reviews, follows and favourites help to draw attention to my work and possibly help me in my quest to inspire and encourage others.


	18. A Home, Old, Yet New

**Author's note: 4/7/19** : Note to guest reviewer **Cici L**. I hope you see this temporary update as I cannot otherwise respond directly to guest reviews. Thanks for your kind review and congratulations on waiting for 6.5 years as well as your new baby! When I receive feedback like yours it really helps me to know that my writing here is of value and that I am following the direction God wants for me.

I would love to know how you came across my writing and to talk with you further. I've found great joy in getting to know several readers and I hope you will consider joining the site and sending me a pm. At any rate, I'd love to hear from you again, even if only through reviews. This was a lovely wake up to my Sunday morning before going to church. God bless!

* * *

Sherlock had no sooner set Molly gently down on the floor inside the outer door, when Mrs. Hudson opened the door to her flat and came hurrying out.

"Oh, you're back!" she chirped happily then stopped and gave them a once over. A broad grin spread over her face. "And, oh my, the two of you are absolutely glowing. I'm guessing you had an extremely _fulfilling_ honeymoon."

Sherlock glanced at Molly, who was blushing as she smiled. He couldn't suppress his own grin as he looked at his landlady and responded, "Let's just say that it was worth the wait, Mrs. Hudson." He slid his arm around Molly's shoulders and squeezed gently.

"Well, I must say that I have missed seeing you over the past week," admitted Mrs. Hudson, sobering somewhat. "It has been a little lonely, so I'm glad you are back. Could I invite you both for dinner this evening?"

Sherlock glanced at Molly again, who nodded slightly. "We would be most honoured, Mrs. Hudson," he told the elderly woman kindly. He had the feeling she would want to know everything they had been up to over the past week. Of course, there wasn't a great deal to tell once he removed the frequent lovemaking sessions. At least they could talk about the play and visiting Shakespeare's birthplace. "What time would you like us to come down?"

Mrs. Hudson beamed. "Would six o'clock work for you?"

"That would be fine," Sherlock agreed readily.

Molly echoed his agreement with her own thanks, and Mrs. Hudson returned to her flat.

Sherlock picked up the cases and walked upstairs with them, as Molly followed behind. Once again, he unlocked the door and set the cases inside. This time Molly did not move to enter, and he knew she was expecting the traditional carrying over the threshold.

He picked her up once again and did the honours, but this time continued to carry her straight to the bedroom, depositing her on the bed.

He returned to the front door and closed it, then locked it. He picked up the cases and returned to the bedroom with them. He was a little disconcerted to find that Molly was no longer on the bed, but relaxed when he heard the toilet flush. Yes, the call of nature must be obeyed. As soon as she exited the bathroom, he decided to use the toilet himself.

When he entered the bedroom once more, Molly was sitting on her side of the bed cross-legged with her elbows on her knees and chin in her hands. She had a dreamy expression on her face and he could not resist asking, as he climbed onto the bed and sat next to her, "What are you thinking about?"

She dropped her hands and looked at him then with that same dreamy expression on her face. "I was just thinking, nothing has changed, yet everything has."

He furrowed his brow at that, a little confused. "In what way?"

"Well, just over a week ago we left this place as two individuals, and now we are husband and wife, and looking forward to the next step in our relationship, including planning a family of our own."

His expression cleared as he understood what she was getting at. This was certainly the start of a new adventure for them as their priorities shifted to include those plans. He slid an arm around her and raised a hand to her face, cupping it delicately. "What do you say we celebrate being in our _new_ home with a little non-verbal communication?"

She smirked at him, completely aware of exactly what kind of non-verbal communication he was talking about. "I would not be opposed to that," she responded, lifting her face for his kiss.

Things were just getting rather passionate between them when Sherlock's text alert went off. He paused in his caress of Molly's shapely thigh to look up at the ceiling and announce in a slightly irritated tone, "Hey God, in case you'd forgotten, we don't need the interruptions anymore because we're actually married now."

Molly smacked his arm playfully and giggled. "Mycroft did say something about John wanting to visit. At least John, if indeed that is who it is, has the courtesy of texting first. And besides, it's not as if things had progressed too far."

"Tell that to my body," grumbled Sherlock, as Molly rolled her eyes.

"Why don't you check the text and if it is him, we can tell him a convenient time to visit that will allow us to finish what we had just begun first."

Sherlock chewed on his lip for a moment, then nodded. "I suppose that would be best."

He sat up and pulled his phone from his pocket. Looking at the screen, he saw it was indeed a text from John.

 _How was the honeymoon? I believe I owe you some money, and I'd like to settle up before I forget. Kayla and Rosie would like to see you as well. Are you free this afternoon or evening?_

Sherlock showed the text to Molly, who had sat up next to him. "What do you think? Four o'clock? That gives us some time alone now, with enough time for a visit before we go downstairs to Mrs. Hudson."

She twirled some hair around her finger. "Sounds like a good idea to me. And did you notice he included Kayla? She must be spending the day with them, which makes sense if they went to church together."

"Indeed," agreed Sherlock, tapping out a response to John and inviting him to come over at four. He waited for the affirmative reply, then tossed his phone on his nightstand, and turned back to Molly.

"Now where were we?" he murmured, showing by his actions that he knew exactly where they had been before the interruption.

His hands roamed Molly's body confidently now, exploring the contours and crevices of her soft skin, the sweet curves he could never get enough of, and he delighted in her little gasps and moans of pleasure. Those little sounds always served to fuel his own desire that hovered constantly near the surface.

And for the first time they consummated their love in their own bed, knowing the joy of being in their own home.

They remained locked in their lovers embrace for some time afterwards, as Sherlock continued to stroke Molly's hair and press soft kisses against her skin -her lips, her cheeks, the soft shells of her earlobes. There was nothing he didn't love about her. His heart swelled with that same unconditional love that he knew Molly had always held for him.

At last they rose and re-dressed. Sherlock put on the kettle, while Molly prepared sandwiches for them to tide them over until dinner. They had not had lunch, after all, and their most recent interlude had served to make them both rather hungry.

After eating, the couple spent some time unpacking the suitcase and overnight bag. Sherlock pulled out the boxes of fudge for John and the ones they had purchased for themselves. He also took the box of fudge for Mrs. Hudson, which they would give her at dinner time, and of course the gifts for Rosie.

He took out the plaque with Sonnet 116 on it. "I'll have to ask Mrs. Hudson if she has a hammer and a nail so I can put this up over our bed," he informed Molly, who had just returned from the bathroom after putting their toiletries back in their regular spots.

"Good idea," she responded. "We'll have to ask her when we go down for dinner."

It was a few minutes before four o'clock when the doorbell rang. Sure enough, Mrs. Hudson was on hand downstairs to open it and footsteps were heard coming up the stairs soon afterwards.

Sherlock opened the door in preparation as he slid an arm around Molly's waist and they stood there expectantly.

Kayla was the first to reach the landing and she immediately smiled at the couple and moved in to hug Molly, then Sherlock. "Welcome home," she told them, as a lovely smile graced her lips.

Sherlock observed her briefly. Kayla was looking quite content. The one sleeve of her blouse held a slight stain, undoubtedly something of Rosie's baby food lunch as it appeared quite fresh. He could also detect a faint smell of the brand of baby wipes John used on Rosie, so undoubtedly she had been the one to change the infant quite recently.

His focus then shifted to John who had just arrived at the door with Rosie on his hip and the changing bag over his other arm. John also looked happy in a way he had not seen him for a long time. The lines on his forehead and the creases between his brows had softened. He was definitely more relaxed.

Rosie was also looking very contented. She kept glancing from John to Kayla and he could see evidence of affection for the woman in the child's eyes. Very promising indeed.

John patted Sherlock on the shoulder, even as Molly held out her arms, and John released her into her godmother's welcoming embrace. "Looking good, Sherlock, I must say. Marriage suits you."

Sherlock's lips quirked in a grin. "I think it suits me too. I'm just sorry it took me forty years to realise the benefits of it, but make no mistake, I'm making up for lost time." He slid a glance over at Molly who shook her head and rolled her eyes at him, then returned to cooing sweet nothings at her goddaughter. Kayla was looking on with what Sherlock thought was a rather motherly smile.

"So," began John, shifting from one foot to the other, "I believe I owe you some money." He reached for his wallet, but Sherlock laid a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Why don't we sit down and visit for a little while?" he suggested. "Molly and I also have a gift for you and something for Rosie as well."

Sherlock ushered John and Kayla to the sofa. He noticed that Molly also sat on the sofa with Rosie on her lap, as he went to the bedroom to retrieve the presents. He loved to see Molly with their goddaughter. _Hopefully soon she will be holding our own daughter on her lap_ , he thought with an inward smile as he picked up the fudge for John and the bib and bodysuit for Rosie.

He returned to the sitting room and held out the fudge to John, then shifted his gaze to Kayla briefly. "I'm very sorry we didn't think to buy you anything, but perhaps John will share." He looked back at his friend and grinned at him.

John took the proffered gift. "Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you, and here is your payment." He reached into his pocket and slid out his wallet, then pulled out a crisp £50 note. He extended it towards Sherlock with a small nod and a smile. "You certainly earned this, my friend."

Sherlock took the note and jammed it in his trouser pocket, then went on to his knees in front of Molly and Rosie. "Look what Auntie Molly and Uncle Sherlock bought for you, sweetheart," he said to the little girl, holding out the bib and bodysuit.

Rosie seemed singularly unimpressed with the gift, although she did reach a hand out to try and grab at one of his curls as usual. Sherlock moved away just in time from her iron grip. Then he turned to John and spoke again. "I guess I'll let you take care of these," he informed his friend, holding out the gifts which John took from him with another word of thanks.

John and Kayla stayed for about an hour as the women chatted away and John told Sherlock how quiet things had been over the past week. He glanced constantly at Kayla, and at Sherlock's polite inquiry about how things were going between the woman and himself, John coloured slightly and said that they were going very well.

Shortly after five, John stood reluctantly. "We had best be going. I'm meeting Kayla's parents this evening and we are going out for dinner." Sherlock raised an astonished brow and John gave him a bashful smile. _This is even more serious than I had suspected,_ he thought to himself.

Out loud, he only said, "Well I hope you both have a lovely evening, and I'm sure Kayla's parents will adore Rosie."

"I'm sure they will," enthused Kayla. "I've told them a lot about Rosie, and they have been looking forward to meeting her," she darted a glance at John before settling her eyes back on Sherlock, "and John too, of course."

Molly looked up from where she had been keeping a watchful eye on the baby, who was now able to roll from her back onto her stomach and back again. She was even beginning to show signs of getting ready to crawl, creeping along the floor, and required much more vigilance then she had earlier. "I'm sure your parents will love Rosie," agreed Molly, adding hastily, "and John too, of course," unintentionally mimicking Kayla's own words, which made Sherlock suppress a grin.

Babies had a tendency to be the centre of attention wherever they went. Sherlock scooped his goddaughter off the floor and gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, then handed her to Molly just before Rosie was able to snatch at a curl.

"Goodbye, sweet girl," crooned Molly, kissing the baby on the cheek as well, and Sherlock thought once again what a wonderful mother Molly was going to be. There was such a softness in her expression as she looked at the little girl, and he could imagine her using that same expression on their own daughter, or son. He couldn't help secretly hoping for a daughter first, though. A little girl with Molly's brown hair and dark eyes would be just perfect.

After the other couple had left, Molly turned to Sherlock and said, "Kayla was telling me how excited she is to be introducing John and Rosie to her parents tonight. I really have a good feeling about them. She told me that John has been acting like the perfect gentleman as well, and he is definitely respecting her with only light kisses for now."

Sherlock took Molly's hand and lifted it to his lips, then led her to the sofa so they could sit down together. "I must confess that I am pleased he has found someone else to care for. I had definitely been concerned about him being lonely now that you and I are together. He and I have been a team for so long that I felt the transition could be difficult for him to adjust to the change in my own priorities. This certainly makes me feel I do not need to be as concerned about his welfare."

Molly nodded and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I know, and I think it's wonderful that Rosie may have the opportunity to grow up with another mother figure."

They sat together quietly for some time, as Sherlock threaded his fingers through the strands of Molly's hair and thought about how marvellous it would be to raise their own child, a child who would be part of them and have traits from both of them as well.

Just before six o'clock, they headed downstairs for dinner with Mrs. Hudson.

That dear lady had outdone herself, making a Sunday roast with vegetables and Yorkshire puddings that quite rivalled those of Sherlock's own mother.

Sherlock and Molly told Mrs. Hudson about seeing the play and visiting Shakespeare's birthplace as well as the other places they had visited. They declined to mention that all their sightseeing had been done in one day. Molly did mention they had had several games of chess together, and Sherlock was only too happy to say that Molly had been his equal with the game.

They presented the landlady with the fudge which she accepted delightedly, and they all had a piece of it after dinner.

An hour after dinner had finished, when Sherlock and Molly were situated comfortably on the sofa in Mrs. Hudson's sitting room, as she sat in her own favourite armchair, Sherlock felt it was time for him and Molly to leave, so he feigned a large yawn.

"Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Hudson. It has been a rather long day, and I'm feeling somewhat fatigued." He looked at Molly and squeezed her hand. "Are you ready to go back upstairs, love?"

She slid him a sideways glance and her lips twitched. She undoubtedly knew he was just making an excuse to leave. "I'm ready, Sherlock."

They stood, as did Mrs. Hudson. "Well, you two lovebirds had best go back upstairs now and straight to bed then," said the elderly woman with a knowing smile, showing she was absolutely no fool when it came to understanding what Sherlock's true motives were.

Sherlock flashed her a grin. "Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Hudson. I expect we shall see you again sometime over the next week, before Molly has to return to work and I return to my own crime solving duties, but please-"

Mrs. Hudson cut him off. "Don't worry, dear. I shall not come upstairs unannounced. I'm sure you and your wife are still getting to know one another." She gave the couple a broad grin and a wink. Molly blushed a little, while Sherlock merely grinned again.

Indeed, that is so," he confirmed, taking Molly's hand and leading her towards the door. "Good night, Mrs. Hudson." Molly echoed his sentiment and they headed upstairs.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief after he closed and locked the front door. He looked at Molly. "I have to say, I'm very glad she didn't ask for specifics on our honeymoon. I wouldn't have put it past her with all her hints during our engagement that we should just sleep together already.'

Molly giggled and reached up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "She's probably already thinking ahead and hoping we will have a baby as soon as possible."

Sherlock looked down at his wife. "Why don't we practice making a baby now?" he asked her silkily. He curled a hand around her waist and drew her close.

Molly giggled and pushed his hand away. "Stop that, Sherlock. Why don't we at least take a shower first?"

Sherlock pouted. "I'd ask you to join me, but I'd really prefer the comfort of our own bed when we indulge in baby-making efforts." He bent down to give her a quick kiss, then headed straight to the bedroom to undress and get ready for his shower.

After a nice refreshing shower, Sherlock returned to the bedroom, not bothering to dress. He noticed Molly's sharp intake of breath at seeing him naked, and smiled smugly, before sliding between the sheets. Then he watched as she hastily grabbed something white and headed for the bathroom herself.

When Molly returned several minutes later, he saw what that something white was. She was wearing a beautiful négligée, obviously another of her hen night gifts and his heart thudded with anticipation as she slipped into the bed beside him. He could see that she had not bothered to put on any knickers beneath the lacy, yet see-through garment.

Annoyed by the fact that she had covered herself immediately, Sherlock threw back the duvet and sheet to gaze upon her properly. _Lingerie is a wondrous thing,_ he thought as his body immediately responded to the sight of her own scantily clad body.

He pulled her into him, kissing her sensuously, kissing the soft curves of her breasts through the négligée and sliding his hand along her hip. "Oh, my darling Molly, you are so exquisite in every way," he murmured huskily as he raised his head and looked into the deep pools of her eyes.

She caressed his cheek and responded breathlessly, "I really love it when you call me your darling, Sherlock."

Sherlock immediately resolved to use that term of endearment more often, as she pressed her body against his invitingly, then began her own exploration of his body, kissing the planes of his chest and touching him with soft hands, tempting and inflaming him further.

Enticing as the négligée was, it did not stay on long, and soon the bedroom was filled with the soft cries and murmurs of their passion as they "practiced" their baby-making skills once more.

And as they nestled together in the afterglow of that passion, Sherlock placed a gentle hand on Molly's abdomen and wondered again if perhaps there was already a tiny baby growing in his wife's womb.

Baby or no baby, he was certainly going to continue enjoying the practice to create new life. Perhaps tomorrow they could aim for five sessions.

Maybe the official honeymoon was over, but their life together as husband and wife had just begun, and new adventures waited around the next corner. Sherlock couldn't wait to find out what lay ahead. He kissed Molly's temple and utter contentment washed over him, as she let out her own sigh of contentment.

Just before his eyes closed and sleep claimed him, Sherlock remembered Molly's precious wedding gift to him, the diary. That was something he also looked forward to reading in the very near future.

 **THE END** (but not really - the diary sequel will follow in early 2019).

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 **Author's note:** Well, that's a wrap. I wanted to end the honeymoon in their own home, and also include John, Kayla, Rosie and Mrs. Hudson into the mix at the end.

I thoroughly enjoyed writing this story, continuing Sherlock and Molly's story together, showing their passionate exploration of each other, knowing the wait had been worthwhile, trying to convey the joy that comes when you just know you are with the person God designed you for. I know there were an awful lot of love scenes, but I tried to keep them real and imaginative at the same time, while inserting some very important conversations between them throughout the week.

Do you think I achieved a good balance in this story content-wise? I hope it did not come off as just a lot of plotless love scenes. I do believe writing intimacy from a Christian perspective requires a lot of thought to send the right message, and it is my hope that I conveyed it in a realistic, yet very loving manner, even as I incorporated some meaningful conversations. Sherlock and Molly were using the time to get to know each other in a physical way, but also a deeper, emotional way as well as they shared more of themselves.

If you enjoyed this story, please favourite/follow/review.

I am revising/re-publishing my _Christmas in Sussex_ story from last year, so that is my next project, which will be followed by my 2018 Christmas story. I hope to see readers move to those stories as they wait for the diary one to begin in 2019. For a chronological list of my stories, I have now added that to my profile.

 **Acknowledgements:** As I said in an earlier chapter, this is my chance to acknowledge those who have supported me most with reviews. I have faithfully taken note of every review and am putting these acknowledgements in order from most to least, basing it on those who have reviewed at least half of the chapters. If readers come to this story later and review as they go along, their names will be added in as well. My loyal supporters are the ones who provide the fuel for my creative fire, and this is my chance to say thanks for that. If you are not on this list, you can always go back and review more chapters or be part of the group who encourages me most on my next story.

 **Elizabeth Robello** \- I am so glad I posted my Christmas story on ao3 and that we re-connected. It means a lot that you have joined this site just to continue to follow my stories here. I am really enjoying getting to know you better!

 **Angelsong015** \- Thank you for following me from ao3 and for being so consistent with your lovely feedback. I know I can always count on your reviews to brighten my day, and I appreciate the way you think of my stories as your "treats" when you have time to read!

 **ElleMichelleP** \- My dear friend and longtime faithful supporter. I appreciate the way you've stuck with me right from the beginning of my original story, my very first reviewer. Your friendship means so much!

 **Mamabear04** \- Another dear reader who has followed me from ao3, I always welcome your thoughtful feedback and ideas as well, you're a wonderful supporter and friend!

 **Comp1mom** \- I always enjoy hearing from you when you have the time to leave a review. I love the ideas you have also given me to enhance my story (Sonnet 116) and appreciate you so much!

 **rin-is-sherlocked** \- So glad you gott to finissh reading this. It's always lovvely to hear from you and thank you for your support!

 **SammyKatz** \- I know you feel you don't contribute much with your reviews, but please don't underestimate yourself. I appreciate all reviews, even when it is just to say you enjoyed a chapter, because that way I know you are reading them.

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Thank you to all who have supported me along this Journey. I hope you will continue to do so. Always remember, no feedback is unimportant to me. I respond to everyone, and often that is the way in which I continue my relationship with my readers beyond the limits of the story. I like to know people's stories, their real ones.

I hope you find my work inspiring and encouraging. Here's a Bible verse that reflects the way I feel about my storytelling and my desire to get to know the people who read my work. I know most readers are not interested in the person behind the stories, so I cherish those of you who have become my friends away from them. I praise God for you.

 **Hebrews 10:24-25 (NIV)**

(24) And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, (25) not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

Update - acknowledgmeent added 1/30/19


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